


Monsters Inc

by impertinence



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-08
Updated: 2009-12-08
Packaged: 2017-10-04 06:58:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impertinence/pseuds/impertinence
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bandom Big Bang: Monsters Inc AU. Pete and Patrick are hard-working monsters at Bono's energy factory and Brendon is a babysitter who stumbles through an activated closet door. Chaos, monster-kissing, and sinister plots abound, along with a hotass Abominable Snowman.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Monsters Inc

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [Abby](http://angelsaves.livejournal.com) for the beta!

The door creaked open and the tip of a pair of glasses peeked through. It was followed by a short, green, bearded man, who closed the closet door behind him and turned on the bedroom lights.

The kid sat up immediately. Andy blinked at it. "Hi," he said, walking over to peer up at the kid. His head was level with its bed, but that didn't lessen the clarity of the words leaving his mouth. "Did you know the world's ending?"

A few minutes later, he walked back out of the closet, blood-curdling screams following him. "That should do it," he said peacefully, sitting down cross-legged on the floor.

"You are fucking amazing, man," Matt said, and hit the button to bring them another door.

"I could improve, I think," Andy said meditatively. "Some of them don't see the consequences of their actions clearly enough. Did you know one of them doesn't even believe in global warming? Someone called Bill O'Reilly told them it was a lie. How am I supposed to work in these conditions?"

"You could try yelling at them," Matt said. "Or like, telling them a scarier story."

"Nothing is scarier than global warming, Matt. Nothing."

"Zombies?"

"_Nothing._"

Their argument would have continued, but the lunch break bell rang, and they filed out with all the other monsters to grab a bite to eat. Behind them, the door to the scare room closed, the Monsters Inc logo emblazoned on it.

Andy flung an arm around Matt's waist, as high as he could reach. They would reach their scare total easily; it was a good day.

||

"Put it on."

"No."

"Put it _on_."

"No, Pete."

"Put it on put it on put it on!"

Patrick glared. Pete crossed his arms. Patrick glared harder. Pete stuck his tongue out. Patrick's face turned red, his eyes bugged out, and he burst into flames. "_I am not going to put it on_!"

Pete waited until the flames died out and Patrick's face went back to normal before he said, "No seriously, put it on."

Patrick snatched the tie from Pete and tied it around his neck. "It'll just burn, the next kid I scare."

"It has a bassoon on it."

"That's a bad argument."

"It's brilliant," Pete said. "I am brilliant, and people are going to compliment your tie, and everything in the world will be wonderful and good."

"Let's just go," Patrick said, and stomped out of their apartment.

They had an apartment because Pete had made Patrick move in with him, which was another brilliant idea. Pete was, it turned out, full of them. Because Pete was _awesome_. Patrick only occasionally agreed, but that was okay, because Pete had high self esteem.

Well, not that high. "Patrick. Patrick. Tell me I'm awesome."

"Lock the door," Patrick said.

Pete locked the door. "Tell me."

Patrick sighed. "You're awesome," he said, patting the spiny flap of skin that rose out of the top of Pete's head. "Now let's go to work."

"Psh, work. I've been thinking," Pete said, bounding down the steps, "that I should go into acting."

"Look, just because that weird kid had pictures of monsters on his wall -"

"Mohawks, Patrick, they were people with mohawks -"

"- doesn't mean anyone actually wants to watch you on TV," Patrick said doggedly. "You have a big mouth."

Pete hopped over two kids playing tentacle wrestling. "I have an amazing mouth. Tell me I have an amazing mouth, Patrick."

Patrick, to Pete's surprise, started getting red. He didn't think he'd managed to piss him off that much – but it was way too late in the game to drop it. "Patrick. Patrick. Paaaaaaatrick. Tell me I have an amazing mouth, Patrick."

"You have an amazing mouth," Patrick muttered. "You're walking really slow, can you hurry up?"

Pete bounded forward as quickly as he could, blinking up at Patrick. "Hey. Hey. Remember that time I found you in the classroom, and you quit your job teaching to be my friend? Remember that?"

"I quit to work at Monsters, Inc., Pete."

"And to be my friend."

"I could have done that with a teaching job."

"But it would have been wrong, because I couldn't be your teacher's assistant since that thing with the fifteen-year-old is on my record. Also, school."

"Okay! Fine. Yes, I remember that time. What's your point?"

"That was a good time," Pete said, and did a cartwheel past Patrick.

Except he somehow managed to cartwheel off the sidewalk and in front of a moving car, which resulted in Patrick roaring and grabbing him and throwing him against a pole. "Are you completely stupid!" Patrick yelled.

"That was unnecessary," Pete said, disentangling himself from the pole. It wasn't even dented. Stupid pole.

"Cars will kill you, Pete!"

"That's why I have you," Pete said, and waited for the green STALK beforKe he walked.

Patrick bitched all the way to the factory, of course. "I'm just saying," he said as Pete put their time cards in and waved to the janitors, "you took care of yourself for years before you met me."

"No, I didn't. I was a sad, lonely person, and constantly in danger of dying horribly." That was true, actually, but Pete was totally not above exploiting the sad truth for his own gain.

"Hey, hey! Patrick!" A tall, wide-eyed blue boy ran up to Patrick. "Patrick Stump! Can I have your autograph?"

Patrick stared at the kid and slowly turned a deep, dark red.

"He's awesome, isn't he?" Pete said hastily. "Totally the best scarer in the company. What are you, an intern?"

The blue kid nodded hard.

"You should go do...intern-y things," Pete said, patting him on the head. "Patrick's got a scare record to keep up."

"I can't have an autograph?"

"If it were up to me, you totally would," Pete said honestly. If it was up to him everyone would be telling Patrick he was awesome, all the time, and shit their pants when Patrick magnanimously acknowledged it. "But the big guy gets kind of crabby when people bug him about it."

The kid leaned over. "Tell him I really love him," he whispered loudly, and ran off.

Pete waited until they got to the door of the scream room to turn to Patrick and tuck his arms behind his back. "I really love you," he said solemnly.

Patrick, red as ever, rolled his eyes. "Let's just get to work."

||

The day flew by like magic. Pete was on a roll, working the doors like he'd been born to it, and Patrick was as amazing and terrifying as ever. Pete was about to tell him how filling up scream tanks gave him a boner (because it _did_) when Brandon slithered up behind them.

"Hello, fellows," he said. "Not going to make it to your goal on closing time, are you?"

"It's not like you are," Pete said, wondering if he could get away with kicking Brandon in the stomach. Knees. Thing. Fuck slithery people and their anatomies that didn't even involve creative genitals. "Flowers are pretty wimpy, anyway."

"People have been making that joke since _grade school_, Wentz. Do you really think it's going to affect me now?"

Pete cocked his head. "I don't know, you're pretty red."

Brandon snarled and leaped forward. Pete jumped and hid behind Patrick. "Don't give me that look," he said when Patrick craned his neck to glare at Pete. "I'm the talent around here. I go down, we all go down."

"I'm going to get you, Wentz," Brandon said, and slithered off.

"You are not the talent." Patrick picked Pete up and set him down next to the seriously endless reams of paperwork Pete had to fill out before closing. "Nowhere close."

"I'll be the talent if I want to be," Pete said, marking the scare totals next to each door and idly wondering if he could get away with just making up scare-to-door ratios. "I shouldn't have to do this. The stats are always the same. How many doors do we go through? A fucking lot, is how many. Fuck this corporate bullshit."

"You're just scared of Greta yelling at you again."

"And the only reason you're not," Pete said, closing his folder, "is because you're taller than she is."

Patrick made a face. "Whatever. Are we done?"

"One more door," Pete said, hitting the button. "You need to maintain your scare total."

"You're a slave driver," Patrick said, running a hand through his fur. "Okay. Ready?"

"Go for it, big guy."

Patrick ran into the door. Pete watched with satisfaction as the screams started, filling the tank almost to the brim. Nowhere near Patrick's best, of course, but Pete had picked this door as the last one for a reason. It would round Patrick up to a nice, even number. There was a science, Pete told himself as Patrick came back out, to door selection. One that Pete understood intimately. That was what made him such a good partner for Patrick. "You are a god among monsters," he said, hitting the button that would send the last door to its spot in the hanger. The other monsters were already filing out, high-fiving each other and talking about the new Cobra show half of them were going to this Friday.

"Shut up and fill out your paperwork," Patrick said. He was all red again; someday he was going to snap and have to take anger management courses. Poor guy.

Pete patted his side. "It's done."

"No, it's not."

"How do you know? It totally is."

"_Pete_..."

"Relax, Patrick. I've got this."

"I really doubt that," Patrick said.

Pete rolled his eyes. "It's covered. Now come on, let's go home. You need to take a bath, put your feet up. Rest your furry star self so we can bring in the screams tomorrow, too."

Of course, the paperwork wasn't really done, and Pete knew it. He also knew that Patrick knew it, and he knew that Patrick knew that Pete knew it. But the thing with Patrick was that he knew he couldn't control Pete, not even remotely – but the company listened to him because he was their best scarer. Pete would never get fired.

So Patrick just rolled his eyes and said, "Fine. Come on, then."

Pete threw his arms up in victory. "Yessss," he said, and clambered up Patrick's back, grabbing fistfuls of Patrick's fur. He wasn't actually that much shorter than Patrick, but he was way lighter. And anyway, Patrick totally loved giving Pete piggyback rides. He just didn't realize it. "Onward, my loyal steed!"

Patrick snorted and started walking. Pete kept up a running monologue about scares, how much he hated Brandon, and the new brand of Twizzlers the corner store was offering, with Patrick responding occasionally to call him a moron. They'd almost made it out of the building when Pete's chatter was cut off by an ominous, "Mr. Wentz."

"We who are about to die salute you," Pete said to Patrick. Patrick snorted. Poor young Patrick; he probably didn't realize Pete was a hundred percent serious.

He clambered off Patrick's back and favored Greta with a nervous smile. "Hey, um, what's up?"

"I'm being transferred next week," Greta said pleasantly. "I'll be a floor boss. It's going to be great."

Floor bosses basically had to scare the scarers. Pete wasn't exactly surprised Greta had been chosen for the job. "That's great! Congratulations!"

"I'm pretty happy with it." Greta narrowed her eyes. "Of course, there's the tiny matter that for the remainder of the week I am still, in fact, in charge of making sure you get your paperwork in. And you haven't."

"I'm sure it's just a misunderstanding," Pete hedged. Maybe if he stalled for enough time the roof would fall in or something.

"Oh? So you deny that you know exactly what paperwork you're supposed to fill out? That's not good, Pete. We can't have someone so badly trained being Patrick's partner. He's our top scarer, you know."

Shit. "Of course!" Pete beamed at her. "I just meant there was a misunderstanding, um, with _us_. Because Greta, I think you're beautiful! And I haven't told you, have I? You're beautiful."

She was unmoved, of course. "Go finish your paperwork," she said. "And don't make me tell you again."

"Yes, ma'am," Pete said meekly. She gave him one last glare before leaving.

"I'd offer to come with you," Patrick said, "except I'm pretty sure you deserve to suffer alone. So good luck with that."

"Traitor," Pete said. "I'll see you at home, then."

The lights were shut off before he even got back to the scare floor. It was kind of creepy, being alone in the dark like that; Pete grabbed the paperwork off his desk and half-ran towards the door.

He stopped dead in his tracks when he heard Brandon's voice.

"Door two six five two," Brandon said quietly.

Pete dove behind a desk right before Brandon came into view, pushing an entire cart of doors. He wasn't afraid of Brandon, exactly, he just -

Okay. He was fucking terrified of Brandon. He peeked out from behind the desk, just in time to see Brandon put a white-and-pink flowered door into the port and activate it.

He was cheating, obviously. That fucker. How long had he been doing it? Did that mean Patrick wasn't really the top scarer? Or that he wouldn't be tomorrow? Pete clenched his hands in fists – but when the tank was full and the door opened, he ducked back behind the desk again. He wasn't that brave, even if he wished he was.

Various thumps and scrapes marked Brandon putting things away. It wasn't until Pete saw Brandon walking past, freakily close, and heard a very soft scratching behind both him and Brandon, that he realized anything might be wrong.

He counted to ten after Brandon had left the scare floor before turning around – and coming face to face with a wide-eyed teenage _human_ boy.

||

Brendon didn't actually like babysitting.

He liked playing, and he liked kids, but the thing was, babysitting was _hard_. You had to be nice to kids even when they were really obnoxious, and pick up after them, and basically be really responsible and careful and conscientious. And Brendon was a lot of things, but responsibility and carefulness and conscientiousness weren't things that really came naturally to him. So babysitting: really not his style. But he needed extra money, and Sarah was actually a really cute kid, so he agreed to do it just this once.

Except apparently, Sarah's closet door led to a warehouse. Since the window right next to her closet looked out on the family's backyard, Brendon was a little weirded out by this development.

But since he'd read Narnia as a kid and knew that walking into impossible worlds generally meant awesome and dangerous things would happen, he walked in.

The warehouse, he realized the second he stepped in and Sarah's closet door was lifted into the air and carried out of the room by a machine, was actually a factory. A deserted factory. This was considerably less awesome than Narnia.

Luckily, it only took him a second to notice the weird black thing waving in the air behind a nearby desk. As he got closer, he realized that the weird black thing was actually some kind of spine, attached to a short, skinny monster that was cowering behind the desk.

Awesome, Brendon thought, someone to help make sure he'd be able to get back to Sarah. "Hi," Brendon said, "I'm Brendon. Could you help me get Sarah's door back? Her parents are going to kill me if I leave her alone in the house, she's only seven."

The skinny dude let out a blood-curdling scream and ran for the exit faster than Brendon had ever seen anything on two legs move.

||

The human – an adult! They were twice as poisonous as children – walked up to him. Pete shrank back, terrified.

"Gaaaaaaaah," it said. "Goo goo gah?"

Pete took a second to consider his options. He needed to get out and warn someone. To scare the human away, he let out a mighty bellow and ran for the door.

He realized it worked when, two floors later, he finally looked behind him and saw neither hide nor hair of the human. Victory, he thought, trying not to pee all over his new shoes. Oh God, they had a _human_ loose. What was he going to do?

Call someone. Right. He could call the feds, and they would come in and take the human away, and then spray him down and lock him up and test extensively for contamination while he lost his job.

Well.

Pete was pretty law-abiding, but he also had pretty flexible morals. Not alerting the authorities about a catastrophe on this level would, essentially, be treason.

But the other option would be going under an investigation that would make him lose his job, which would mean Patrick would need a new scaring partner, and that just wasn't going to happen. Plus, he rationalized – plus, it was really Brandon's fault, and he wasn't getting punished, was he? So why should Pete report it?

Okay, to prevent citywide panic and death. That might be good.

...except Pete _really_ didn't want Patrick to have another scare partner.

Pete's moral compass was pretty much pointed towards Patrick. After another minute of mulling it over, he stood up and left the building. His phone stayed in his backpack, unused.

||

For a full day, he thought he'd gotten away with it. The adult human must not be as stupid as Pete's "Humans and their World" class had taught him – that or, instead of laying low, the human was touching everyone it met. Dead monsters told no tales, after all.

Pete shuddered and snuggled closer to Patrick. He didn't even want to think about it.

"You should tell me what's wrong," Patrick said without looking at him.

"Wrong?" Patrick forced himself to laugh loudly. "Nothing's wrong! Why would you think something was wrong?"

"You're acting like that time Brandon fed you speed," Patrick said. "Only even more paranoid. Come on, spill."

"There's nothing to spill," Pete said. "I'm just, uh, feeling very active. Yeah! Active and virile and PatrickBrandonletahumanlooseandhe'sprobablykillingeveryoneheencountersaswespeak!"

Patrick did the sensible thing and picked Pete up by the ankle, dangling him at eye level to Patrick. "_What_?"

Pete winced. "I'm sorry! I was going to tell someone but I didn't want to go to jail because you need me as your scare partner and did I mention I was sorry, because I totally am."

"I – We have to find him," Patrick said. "Like, right now."

"If we do that he'll _kill us!_"

Patrick snorted. "Okay, look, I know you're kind of slow, but are you actually mentally deficient? He won't kill us. I've had kids touch me tons of times and none of them have killed me."

Pete blinked once, then twice, and then a third time. Finally he said, "Come again?"

"Do I need to say it more slowly or something? Come on, Pete."

"_What_."

Patrick was bright red, but his tone stayed impatient. "They tell us in school kids can kill on contact. So some kid grabs me, but I'm in the middle of filling up scream tanks – remember the slumber party three years ago, the one that bumped us to the top of the scare totals? It was that time. I wasn't dead by the time they stopped screaming, so I pretty much figured I was in the clear."

"You're insane," Pete said. "You're completely _insane._"

"No, the myth that kids are deadly is insane." Patrick shook his head. "But we _should_ find him, because otherwise the government will, and it won't end well. How old is he – three? Four?"

"...probably more like twenty," Pete admitted.

"I am the best friend you will ever have," Patrick said. "I just wanted to remind you. You total fucking moron."

"I love you, Patrick," Pete said, batting his eyelashes.

"Uh-huh." Patrick shook his head, taking a stop back from Pete like he was afraid he'd catch Pete's stupid, or something. "Okay, just tell me where he might be."

"How am I supposed to know where adult humans like to go when they've stumbled into a world full of monsters?"

"I trust you," Patrick said.

"You are a liar, Patrick Stump." But Pete thought it over. "Well, I know where I'd go if I was stuck in human-land."

"How is that helpful?"

"Because we have them here, too." Pete grabbed his hat and headed for the door. "Chuck E. Cheese's, my friend."

Patrick groaned. "You're not riding any of the rides."

Pete had totally been thinking about doing exactly that. "But -"

"No," Patrick said firmly. "We are going to find the human and send him back, and then I'm probably not going to talk to you for a few days."

"Patrick," Pete said, making his eyes as wide and pathetic-looking as he could.

Patrick crossed his arms. "No! No. You did a bad thing."

"_Brandon_ did a bad thing."

"You're not totally innocent," Patrick said. "Come on, do you really want me to believe you couldn't have gotten the guy back through his door if you really wanted to?"

"He didn't speak English," Pete said defensively. "That or he's still a kid. It sounded like babbling baby talk to me."

"You've never heard human babies talk," Patrick said.

"And you have? I thought you were there to make them scream."

Patrick opened his mouth to reply, but instead ended up just glaring. Pete barely refrained from cackling: hah! He was right. "So let's go to Chuck E. Cheese's."

"We're still not riding any of the rides."

Fairly confident that Patrick wouldn't violently shake him off, Pete grabbed fistfuls of fur and dragged himself up. "You're the only ride I'll ever need, baby," Pete said, petting Patrick's side.

"You're disgusting," Patrick said shivering a little – but he left their apartment and locked the door with Pete still clinging to his back.

||

One thing Pete remembered from college was this: Chuck E. Cheese's was _totally_ more awesome in their world than in the humans'. For one thing, it was three stories tall. For another, the games tended to involve flying employees or real fire.

Of course, the employees were usually crabby high school monsters who might occasionally drop a really bratty kid (or Wentz), but Pete was willing to take the risk.

"So," he said, "should we do the pterodactyl or dragon ride first?"

"We should find the poisonous adult human first," Patrick said. "You idiot."

"You said he wasn't really poisonous."

"But everything thinks he is, and when it comes to citywide panic and chaos and _jail time_ -"

"Okay, okay." Pete scanned the Chuck E. Cheese's, trying not to get too jealous and sad. "Hey, maybe he's on the Whack-the-Human ride."

"Why would he want to whack his own kind?"

"You hit me all the time."

Patrick cocked his head. "Point," he said, and they made their way over to the ride.

Pete scanned the crowed – but the human wasn't there, even in costume like Pete had kind of been expecting. He was ready to give up and beg Patrick to actually let him ride the rides when a familiar brown-haired head popped out of one of the Whack-the-Human holes.

"Brilliant," Pete breathed. "Patrick, look! The one who looks like a muppet! That's him!"

"He's so ugly. They grow up really weird-looking," Patrick said. "Okay, how do we get him out of there?"

Pete hadn't actually thought this far. "Um," he said.

"Pete," Patrick said warningly.

"I'll think of a brilliant plan," Pete said. "Any moment now. Just wait. Thinking, thinking..."

"That's enough thinking," Patrick said, and strode forward. "You there!" he bellowed, pointing to the human. "I am hereby arresting you on charges of impersonating a human!"

Patrick always thought Pete was joking when Pete said he was going to marry him, but then he went and pulled stunts like this. No, Pete thought; he was definitely going to marry Patrick. Patrick just didn't know it yet.

"Gnrahgah?" the human said.

"Hands behind your back!" Patrick strode forward and pulled the human out of his Whack-a-Human hole, twisting his hands behind his back and picking him up bodily. Pete tried not to do something stupid like yell about contamination. Patrick said they weren't poisonous, and he trusted Patrick. He _did_.

To the side, one of the kids whispered, "I had no idea he was _real_."

Pete didn't know if they were talking about Patrick or the human, but it occurred to him that this would probably be on the news if they didn't hurry up and get out of there – and even then, actually, it would still be on the news. But no one would have proof of who'd done it.

Accordingly, he hopped off Patrick's back. "Alright, moving along, nothing to see here, go back to your games!" he said loudly. "Take this to heart as an example of bad behavior and move on with your lives! Excuse me, make way! Come on," he added in a low voice, marching in front of Patrick as officially as he could. Patrick slung the human over his back and followed.

Pete wished they'd thought to bring a car. Instead he kept up his monologue for six blocks and two bus rides, until they were riding up the elevator in their own apartment complex.

"I think you can stop now," Patrick said dryly when Pete stepped out of the elevator and yelled "Make way!" down the empty hall.

"Probably," Pete said, moving to unlock their door. The human had long since relaxed on Patrick's back. It might actually be in shock, Pete thought with a brief flash of sympathy. Poor thing.

"Put it on the couch," Pete said. "I'll get some water to dump over its head."

"His," Patrick said. "And no! Jesus, Pete, why would you put _water_ on him?"

"That's what wakes humans up."

"It's rude. Just let him stay passed out for awhile."

"What if he dies?"

"Then...stop asking questions," Patrick said, and put the human down so he could stomp off alone to the kitchen.

Pete walked up to the human warily. What if it was mad when it woke up? He'd probably get clawed, or bitten. But right now it was really funny, breathing heavily and twitching every now and then. Pete was roughly eye level with it – him – and he leaned forward as he kept breathing, moving his face closer and closer to the human's.

When the human opened his eyes, Pete yelped in shock and fell back. "That was rude," he said when he got his equanimity back.

The human started babbling, of course. Pete rolled his eyes. "Okay, whatever. I'm Pete. You're..." He cocked his head, studying the human carefully. His extensive knowledge of human habits, he thought, should enable him to pick a good name. "...Hemingway," he said finally. Hemingway was awesome. He even had a book of him hidden under his stash of women monsters' underwear.

"Brendon," Hemingway said.

"That's ridiculous," Pete said. "Hey, Hemmy, want a lollipop?"

"What are you calling him?" Patrick said, coming in from the kitchen with an enormous sandwich in hand.

"Hemingway. Hemmy for short," Pete said. "I'm a genius, I know. Do we have any lollipops?"

"In the cabinet," Patrick said. "Hemmy's a stupid name for a human."

"Don't be stupid. I've always wanted a pet named Hemmy."

"Yeah, a _pet_. Not a human."

Pete waited until he'd retrieved a lollipop and handed it to Hemmy before he replied. "Humans can be pets. Don't be so narrow-minded, Patrick."

Patrick turned bright red, like he had the time Pete put on the skirt and thong and danced to salsa music. Only they'd both had way less alcohol tonight, of course. "I'm not narrow-minded, you're just _insane_. We've got to get him home."

"How are we going to do that? We only repeat doors about once a week, and Brandon won't let us put him back through if he gets the same door again. Actually, no one will."

Patrick bit his lower lip. "We could sneak in."

Pete clapped his hands on his chest, overbalancing and falling back on his back. "_Patrick_! You've gone mad! The human's robbed you of your senses!"

"Get up," Patrick said cruelly. "Just last week you were begging me to help you rob the bank."

"That's different," Pete said, because it totally was. "We would've been able to retire to a nice beach somewhere, just you and me and a multi-colored umbrella. If we sneak the human back, we'll be retiring _in jail_."

"That doesn't even make sense. If we got caught robbing a bank -"

"Don't try to get out of this by splitting hairs, Patrick Stump! You want us to go to jail for the sake of a _human!_" Pete stared up at him with round, pathetic eyes. "It's like I don't even know you anymore."

"You are insane," Patrick said. "I'm not talking to you anymore." He took the last bite of his sandwich and got up, grabbing a blanket from the closet and putting it over Hemmy. "Um, sleep well," he told him, and went into his room without so much as a backward glance.

Pete stared after him, almost incapable of processing what had just happened. Patrick had _left_ him. How was that even possible? One of the basic tenets of Pete's general state of existence was that Patrick didn't leave him.

And, okay, he was being kind of dramatic: Patrick was obviously just in a pissy mood. But still, this was not okay.

"Patrick!" he yelled, bounding over the couch and in front of Patrick's door. "Hey, _Patrick!_ You suck, man, open the door!"

"I'm busy," Patrick said. "And after that I'm going to be sleeping. Just go to bed, okay?"

Pete spent a full minute pouting at the door before he realized Patrick couldn't see it through the wood. Instead, he resorted to whining. "Paaaaaaatrick. Come on, you didn't even say goodnight. Come ooooooon, Patrick, open the door for just a second."

Silence, and then a sigh. Pete fistpumped as Patrick said, "Oh, fine, you giant idiot," and opened the door.

Pete ran between his legs and jumped on the bed. "Hah! Now snuggle me."

Patrick stared, wide-eyed. "What?"

"Snuggle me," Pete said again. "Come on, do it!"

"You're disgusting," Patrick said. "I hate you."

"Liar. Come on, man, I'm not going to give you a disease."

"How can I be sure?" Patrick shot back, but he crawled into bed.

Pete curled up around him, beaming in satisfaction. "I love you so much."

Patrick blushed again, of course. It was so easy to make him blush. Pete sighed happily and closed his eyes. "Don't ever go away, okay?"

"Why would I do that?"

Plenty of reasons, Pete thought; he'd always assumed Patrick would sooner or later. Keeping someone like Patrick didn't happen to monsters like him. But he also knew that actually saying that would get him cruelly kicked out of bed, so he said, "Never mind. I'm an idiot. Hug me."

Patrick huffed a laugh. "You're insane," he said, but he pulled Pete still closer.

Pete didn't fall asleep easily, of course, but when he finally managed it, his head was about as quiet as it ever got.

||

He woke up the next morning to irrationally flamboyant music. He groaned and rolled over, pulling the blanket over his head – but it was too late. He was awake, and he hated it.

"Why is there music," he yelled, stumbling out to the living room.

But it turned out he really didn't need to ask, because Hemmy was dancing on top of their coffee table while Patrick watched, expression the perfect picture of shocked near-horror.

"Coffee," Pete croaked.

"He made it," Patrick said. "It tastes like sludge. You should probably skip it. He's _terrifying_."

Hemmy waved his arms and warbled, either oblivious to Pete and Patrick or deliberately ignoring them.

"I don't know," Pete said, watching him dance, "he's very...energized. Dedicated, even. It's kind of impressive."

"Except for how he doesn't speak our language, and also he's an unholy terror," Patrick said. "Our coffee table's never going to be the same."

Pete cocked his head and clambered on top of the couch, stretching until he was almost eye-level with Hemmy. "Hi, Hemmy," he said.

"Brendon," Hemmy said.

Maybe that word meant hello in human language. "Please stop dancing on our coffee table," Pete said, speaking loudly and slowly, motioning to the table and shaking his head.

"I don't think that's going to work," Patrick said.

"Blaaaaaaaaaaaaht!" Hemmy yelled, and struck a (pretty badass, Pete had to admit) pose.

"Oh god," Patrick said. "We're doomed. Why did I let you do this? We're _doomed_."

"We'll figure something out," Pete said. "But first: coffee."

Patrick sighed and went out to the kitchen to get him a mug. Satisfied, Pete sat back down on the couch, watching Hemmy gyrate to the showtune.

When the song ended, Pete clapped his hands loudly. "Hemmy!"

Hemmy turned to look at him inquisitively. He could be taught, Pete thought, delighted. "Come here," he said, still loudly and slowly, crooking his fingers.

Hemmy cocked his head and hopped off the table, moving in front of Pete. Pete carefully piled three couch pillows on top of each other so he could look Hemmy in the eye. "We have to go to work. Can you make dinner for us?"

Hemmy didn't answer, just kind of tilted his head and widened his eyes. He looked like a puppy again. Pete sighed and leaned forward, hugging him. "I kind of hate you," he said.

"..Pete?" Patrick said from the doorway.

"I'm bonding," Pete said. "Gimme my coffee."

Wordlessly, Patrick handed it over. Pete downed it, taking a chance to savor it before he said, "Okay. We have to bring Hemmy to work."

"What," Patrick said.

"He can't stay here. He'll burn something down."

"He's not actually a child, Pete."

Pete watched Hemmy hop off the table and run in circles making airplane arms. "Ostensibly," he said. "But seriously, do we want to leave him alone? What if he decides hey, the weird monster boyfriends' apartment is boring, maybe I should explore? Disaster is what, my friend."

Patrick inhaled sharply. "We're not boyfriends."

Pete waved his hand dismissively. "If you stayed the night with us and you weren't you and didn't know us, you'd totally think we were."

"That makes no sense," Patrick said, but he relaxed enough that he no longer looked like someone had shoved a stick up his ass.

"Yes, it does," Pete said. "So do me a favor and make him look like a monster, okay? I gotta take my weekly supplement."

Patrick groaned. "You don't _have_ to take that shit. You're insane."

"It keeps me healthy and strong. Like milk for humans," Pete said. "Hah! Check out my cultural knowledge." He put the mug on top of a stack of newspapers and went into the bathroom, taking down the bottle from its appointed place, sticking his dick in it, and closing his eyes.

"You didn't close the door, you fucking freak," Patrick yelled from the living room.

But Pete didn't even bother to answer back, because he was peeing and it felt amazing. When he was done, he yelled, "You're a freak!" before tilting his head back and drinking it all down.

It tasted kind of sweet this time. He should eat more starches, maybe.

"Brush your fucking teeth, you disgusting fucking lunatic," Patrick said when he smacked his lips in satisfaction.

"Fuck you, my pee smells amazing," Pete said. He obeyed, though, because otherwise Patrick would shun him and he'd cry. Well, okay, not really. But he'd want to cry, which totally counted. "Have you made him look like a monster yet?"

"It's not as easy as it sounds," Patrick said.

Pete turned around – and ended up gaping. Hemmy was wearing a weird set of tentacle-eyes made from their sofa, and Patrick had painted his face green.

"...good job," Pete said finally. "Really. I congratulate you."

"I know it's ugly, but you're asking me to improvise, here," Patrick said. "So cut me some slack, okay?"

"Slack cut," Pete said. "He's supposed to look like a monster, anyway." He grabbed his suitcase (not that he needed anything in it, but he liked looking official). "Let's go."

They were more muted than usual, walking to work. It was weird; normally Pete wouldn't think twice about hugging Patrick, jumping on top of cars, yelling hello to everyone he recognized and some people he didn't, and so on. Today, though, he stuck close to Patrick and Hemmy. He felt weirdly protective considering Hemmy was nine different kinds of pain in the ass.

He danced well, was all. Even if it was on Pete and Patrick's coffee table.

"What if people think we've adopted him?" Pete said suddenly, a block and a half away from the factory.

"That's completely stupid," Patrick said. "Why would anyone think that?"

"Well, it is 'take your baby monster to work day'," Pete said.

He wasn't actually expecting Patrick to stop dead. He walked a full five steps (so like, two of Patrick's) before he noticed. "Um. Dude. We have somewhere to go."

"I can't have people thinking I have a kid!"

Pete rolled his eyes. "So we'll tell people he's not ours, dumbass."

"But what if they don't believe me?"

Pete thought about a world that assumed he and Patrick had a kid together. "We'd get tax breaks?"

"Arrrgh," Patrick said, kicking the brick wall next to them.

Brendon's eyes widened. "Whirufaain?"

"See, now you're upsetting him." Pete moved forward and grabbed Patrick's arm, hanging on it. "Come on, man, it's not that big a deal. Who care if people think we have a kid? Half the factory already thinks we're having sex anyway."

"And you know I hate that."

"But it's not like we actually are. So why does it matter?"

"Why am I friends with someone so stupid?" Patrick asked the sky.

Pete thought it over. _He_ wouldn't mind if they were together, which was why he always got the funny little brick-feeling in his stomach when the topic came up. Now he said lightly, "Fine, then. I'll tell William he's my brother's illegitimate kid. The news'll be all over the factory before lunch. Happy?"

Patrick huffed a breath, bright red color receding. "Yeah, okay."

"Good." Pete forced himself to smile. "Now, since we're ten minutes late, can we go already?"

Patrick made a face, but he followed obediently when Pete started walking again. Hemmy stayed between the two of them, unusually silent.

||

So. Gay monsters.

Brendon didn't stop talking, usually, just because it got incredibly lonely watching life around him operate like a Spanish soap on TV: totally nonsensical and not something he could participate in. But even he could tell that there was something going on between the big red-furred one and the little one with the mohawk, so after they'd had their weird conversation, he stayed quiet for awhile.

Their factory was weird. It was very obviously a factory, but bigger and airier than any Brendon had seen in the human world. The little one dragged Brendon all over the place, babbling nonsensically (to Brendon, at least) and pointing out various buildings and monsters. At one point Brendon got bored and followed a monster that reminded him a little of Ryan until they got to a room that looked like a TV set: it was a fake kid's room with a mannequin and a group of gaping monsters standing off to one side.

This should be fun. Brendon settled in to watch.

Two of the scared-looking monsters crept in through the fake closet door and tried to scare the mannequin. One of them fell on a ball and screamed; the other one apparently just didn't have his heart into it, since the mannequin didn't move.

This was more boring than he'd expected. Brendon sighed, looking around for the exit. He was pretty sure he remembered the way back to where his two monsters worked.

But then the big furry one came in. Before Brendon had a chance to greet him, he said a few words to the monster leading the group and leaped onto the set, roaring.

Brendon wasn't stupid; he'd figured out that the big furry one and all the other really big or terrifying-looking monsters were in the business of scaring the shit out of human kids, and since he'd just found a whole fucking other world through a closet door, he wasn't too worried about that specific detail right now. But when the big furry one jumped into the room and started roaring, the mannequin sat up and screamed its head off – and it looked exactly like Brendon's Jon.

Before he really knew what was happening, shock overtook him and he started bawling his eyes out.

The little one came out of nowhere and grabbed him, jumping around like a spaz and hugging him and punching his calves. The big one looked like he was about to start crying, too, picking Brendon up bodily and carrying him out of the room. No matter how much Brendon tried, between pathetic snot-filled hiccups, to explain why he was upset, the big one just nodded and patted his head a bunch. Fuck the language barrier, anyway.

Brendon finally gave up, sighing and letting himself be hugged insane amounts. Once he'd stopped crying, they led him back to their giant workroom. The rest of the day went a lot more smoothly; they finished their work and took Brendon back home with them, even buying him a lollipop when he pointed at it and made pitiful eyes. He hadn't missed what the massive numbers of doors meant, but even though he'd kept an eye out, none of them had been his babysitting charges'. He could probably get home okay through any of them – he had his credit card on him, after all – but he was kind of hoping this was like Narnia and there would be no time passed when he finally got back.

Otherwise he was completely screwed anyway, what with leaving a seven-year-old home alone and all.

They'd spent two hours at the apartment before Brendon realized what a moron he was. The short one kept calling him some weird name that sounded like a pet's, and it was kind of getting annoying; he was ready to just go hide in the bathroom when he looked at the bookshelf and realized he'd somehow managed to miss that their letters were the same as English's.

Fucking _duh_, he thought, and grabbed a sheet of paper from the coffee table.

They both got quiet when he started writing. He had their total attention when he pushed the sheet of paper with his name written in big block letters towards them.

The little one scratched his head, examining it.

"Brendon," Brendon said, pointing to himself. "Bren-don."

The little one frowned. "Hemmy."

Brendon shook his head. "Bren. Don."

"Bren," the big furry one said, "don."

Brendon nodded. "Brendon."

The big one looked pleased. "Brendon," he said, pointing at Brendon.

"Right," Brendon said. "And now that we've reenacted Tarzan, I'm going to bed."

He went into the big one's room and got into his bed, grinning when he heard their twin yelps of rage. He'd checked; the little one's bed was totally smaller. Brendon was a cross-dimensional Cupid, hell yeah.

||

Brendon was a cross-dimensional Cupid, Pete realized.

Fuck.

"I can take the couch," he said as casually as he could.

Patrick rolled his eyes. "Don't be a moron. You sleep in my bed all the time."

"Your bed is huge," Pete said. "Mine, on the other hand, is tiny. Fuck cuddling, I'll end up sleeping on top of you."

"Like that doesn't fill you with joy, you giant freak."

Pete was kind of glad he was green; it meant he didn't blush. "Shut up."

"I don't know why it matters," Patrick said loudly.

Except he was getting upset, and part of Pete was completely, humiliatingly incapable of letting that kind of thing go. Hunting for clues was stupid and he knew it – but he couldn't stop himself. "Don't you?"

"Because you're a freak," Patrick said. "That's all I can think of."

He was lying, Pete thought – but hey, now at least if anything happened, he could blame Patrick. "Fine," he said recklessly. "Let's go, then."

Patrick blinked at him and for a second Pete was convinced this was like the time he went and put his underwear on his head and an entire day passed without him noticing, and without anyone else saying anything. "It's seven o'clock," Patrick said finally.

So, less embarrassing than the underwear. But only marginally. "I knew that," Pete said.

"Right," Patrick said skeptically. "So. Fluffy the Child Slayer?"

Pete took it as the peace offering it obviously was and crawled up on the couch. "Is it new this week?"

"I don't think so. But this is the one with the triplets."

"Oooh, and the Nerf guns?"

"Yep."

"Awesome." Pete jammed himself under Patrick's arm, chewing on a tuft of Patrick's fur thoughtfully. "Fluffy's so hot."

Patrick rolled his eyes. "You'd think anyone was hot if they had two tails."

"I'm just saying, think of what she can _do_ with those tails. I would pay money for that kind of thing."

"There's a street downtown you can -"

Pete punched Patrick's arm. "Don't even go there, buddy. My heart is devoted to one thing and one thing only."

"Porn doesn't count," Patrick said with a sarcastic snort.

Only Pete had leaned forward in anticipation of needing to punch him, so the snort just made his fur ruffle against Pete's face, and then Patrick huffed a breath in surprise and he basically just breathed all over Pete's mouth.

Pete only just managed to save himself from a seriously embarrassing kissing-related accident by burping in Patrick's face.

"...ew," Patrick said, leaning back.

"I'm awesome," Pete said. "Admit it, come on. I'm awesome."

"You're disgusting," Patrick said. "And you're going to die an almost-virgin."

"I've dated three people!"

"Doesn't count."

"In the past _five months_! And tons before them."

Pete couldn't read Patrick's expression at all when he said again, "Doesn't count."

"You're bizarre," Pete told him. "Someday all your fur is going to fall off and you'll cry."

"Fuck off," Patrick said.

And, okay, he said shit like that all the time. Only now he sounded pretty serious. "Patrick?" Pete said, trying not to make his voice too small and pathetic.

Patrick sighed. "I'm sorry," he said. "Just...look." He turned and presented Pete with his back.

"Very nice," Pete said diplomatically, for lack of anything better to say.

"No, _look,_" Patrick said, and pointed to a spot on his lower back.

Pete squinted at it – and almost recoiled in shock. A tiny, tiny circular spot on Patrick's back was light-pink and hairless.

"Oh my god," he said.

"Yeah," Patrick said. "So just...no fur jokes, please?"

Pete tried to imagine Patrick without his fur. He'd had more pleasant images. "Are you going to hold a funeral when the last hair falls out?"

"No, I'm going to hold a funeral for you," Patrick said, turning back around, "because you have no tact, and I'm going to kill you." He lunged.

"No!" Pete tried to get off the couch, but it was too late: Patrick had hold of him and started tickling him mercilessly.

"Stop!" Pete shrieked. "Stop, stop! Wait, for real, stop, Brendon's sleeping."

"Oops," Patrick said, and dropped him.

"You'd be a terrible dad," Pete informed him, hopping back on the couch.

"Good thing I'm allergic to kids, then."

"Hmm," Pete said. "We should get you a cape."

"...what."

"A cape! For your bald spot."

"Pete, I swear to God, I'm going to kill you."

"Not right now," Pete said. "But, you know, sometime. Later on, I mean. When you're almost all bald."

"Oh, thanks, that's so much better. How did I ever doubt you?"

"Shut up," Pete said. "Prick. Come on, I'm trying to be nice here."

Patrick crossed his arms and turned his head back to the TV, clearly sulking. "Yeah, well, you're not doing a very good job."

Pete stared at him for a few minutes. He kind of wanted to touch the bald spot again, but Patrick was treading the line between fake-mad and real-mad, and he knew doing something like feeling up Patrick's bald spot would push him over the edge. "Fine," he said finally. "Goodnight."

That got a predictable reaction, at least. "Wait, what?" Patrick said, finally looking up.

"Sleep time," Pete said. "Yawn. Snooze." He hopped off the couch and sauntered into his room without a backward glance. "Yawn," he added, just for good measure, before he hopped into his bed.

He couldn't sleep. Not right now, but just kind of generally. It wouldn't have been so bad except that in their world, which Pete knew was cleaner and worked better than the humans' because he was awesome and had researched it, his mental drift and shifting was totally abnormal.

And nothing, Pete knew from past experience, could really fix it.

So he lay awake and tried to think about happy things: Patrick taking him out for ice cream, or their friend Andy snowboarding into the governor's office, or Brendon's coffee table karaoke. He didn't expect it to really help – except somehow, instead of his brain running in fatalistic circles the way it normally did, he ended up falling asleep.

He woke up with Patrick staring at him.

"Dude," he said, moving just enough to stick his face under a pillow, "Creepy."

"You were making noise," Patrick said.

"Shocking," Pete said. "Seriously, stop the presses. What's wrong with you? Is it morning?"

"Midnight," Patrick said. "Move over."

"No," Pete said, but he did it anyway. As soon as Patrick was horizontal, though, he crawled all over him, settling kind of curled up on his chest. "Goodnight."

"You're just going to fall back asleep?"

Apparently; Pete could already feel the tugging that meant his brain had decided to check out for awhile. "Guess so," he said, and yawned.

"Oh," Patrick said. He sounded quiet and...small? Pete shook himself mentally. Wondering was for later. Sleep, though...

He fisted a hand in Patrick's fur and sighed. Sleep was for now.

||

The next day completely sucked.

Brendon had refused to go with them. Patrick had a small panic attack about that until Pete pointed out, a bit shame-facedly, that Brendon looked like an adult human, and could probably take care of himself. Patrick was so annoyed by that that he didn't even give Pete a piggyback on the way to work.

Then they _got_ to work, and...okay. The thing was, logically Pete knew that Brandon was higher up than them, having worked there five more years. And logically, Pete knew that there was no reason he should like his boss.

But the other thing was, Bono was a total asshole and Pete pretty much wanted to light him on fire.

"That's way too extreme," Patrick said. "He's okay. He runs the company well."

"Someday his ego's going to come alive and eat me," Pete said. "You'll regret it then."

"You're such a drama queen," Patrick said, and smiled hugely. "Mr. Bono! Nice to see you again, sir!"

"Don't bother brownnosing me, boy," Bono said, but he looked pleased. "I saw you reached a new scare record last week. Good job."

"It's a personal achievement," Patrick said. "I made one human wet its pants."

This, Pete knew, was a lie. But Bono liked bravado.

Sure enough, he threw back his head and cackled, eight legs dancing on the floor. "Good job! I'm proud of you, son."

"Mr. Bono, sir, there's a leak on floor seven," his assistant said.

Bono sighed. "And thus, my workday begins. I'll see you later, Patrick. You keep right on scaring, boy!"

And with that, he left.

"Flames would improve him, is what I'm saying," Pete said.

"He's my mentor," Patrick said, and they got into the elevator. "Don't be mean."

"He's a dick," Pete said. "And I'd push him off a tall building if I could." The doors pinged open, and a pair of creepy detached eyes blinked at them.

"Don't hate me because I'm beautiful, Wentz," the monster the eyes belonged to said.

"Don't worry, I hate you because your mom was a bad lay." Pete patted Patrick's leg. "The big guy here had to suck up to Bono again."

"He wants to touch you in special places," Gabe said, putting his eyes back in his skull. "Oh, hey, do you think I'll get audited again if I start saying that to kids?"

"I think you'll traumatize them, and they'll probably cry," Patrick said. "Which -"

"- means the tanks will fill with tainted energy, I know," Gabe said. "I went to the same seminars you did, remember. Do you think they're really going to work?"

"What?" Pete said.

"Energy purity," Patrick said. "We all got invited, I don't know why you didn't go."

"Oh, that." He just hadn't felt like getting out of bed. "I had a hot date," he said cheerfully. "And anyway, everyone knows it's bullshit. We're doomed. Mother nature will take back her own, Andy told me so."

"We just need more screams," Gabe said, but he sounded unconvinced.

Patrick wasn't what anyone in their right minds would call an optimist, but he was the one who patted Pete and said, "It's fine. Someone will figure something out before -"

"Before a scream shortage results in mass panic and riots," Gabe said. "Unfortunately."

"Your desire for carnage is kind of disturbing," Patrick said.

Gabe shrugged. "I love a good riot, what can I say."

"You love attention," Pete said.

"Pot."

"Maybe later," Pete said, then thought it over. "Hey! Fucking kettle."

Gabe laughed. "The doors are about to arrive," he said, "so I'll leave it at that. But remember, you ever want a little chaos..." He waggled his brows meaningfully, and then left.

"I can never decide if I like him," Patrick said.

"I love him. We're going to get married." Pete craned his neck, studying the doors that were arriving. Brendon's wasn't among them. "We should send him back, you know."

"We need his door," Patrick said quietly.

"He's a grown-up," Pete said. "Or close to one. I'm sure he'd be fine."

"I don't feel like being that irresponsible," Patrick said. "We'll just keep him until we can find his door."

"You're getting attached!" Pete almost shrieked, because all of a sudden it was totally, hilariously obvious. Patrick _liked_ Brendon.

But then a door landed in their port with a _snick_, and Pete moved automatically to load an empty tank. "Maybe," Patrick said, and walked through the door.

He must have gotten lucky and surprised a group, because they filled five tanks before Patrick walked back out. "I love when they share rooms," Patrick said.

Normally Pete would be alternatively heckling him and telling him he was awesome, but instead he hit the button for another door and said, "Just don't bring any more of them home with you, softy!"

The look on Patrick's face was totally worth the yelling he was going to have to listen to later. "Oh look, another door," Pete said, and shoved him through it.

They barreled through door after door. It got tiring after awhile, moreso than usual, but lunch break rejuvenated Pete the way it always did. He even managed to finish his paperwork on time, so that when they stopped by Greta's, he could hand it over.

"Is this a going away present?" Greta said.

"Oh, is today promotion day?" Pete said, feigning innocence.

"Don't try to pull one over on me, Wentz, I know you know about it," she said. "And yes, it is. I move to management after this."

"Godspeed," Pete said. "But you know this means I'm never filling out my paperwork again, right?"

"I'm sure," Greta said dryly. "Oh, Patrick – you're wanted in Mr. Bono's office. He requested you stop by once you'd clocked out."

"Is that even legal?" Pete said.

"Probably not," Greta said. "But he's the boss. It could be a friendly meeting."

"I'm coming with you," Pete said. "Greta, you should come too. We need protection."

"I'm not quick enough to be very good protection," Greta said.

"No, but seriously," Pete said, moving to see behind her desk, "how many weapons do you have on you right now?"

"I don't think that's any of your business," Greta said primly, but she took out two long, thin knives and put them in a drawer. "I won't need those, anyway," she said, and oozed out from behind her desk.

"You're so terrifying," Pete said worshipfully. "Okay, let's go."

The factory was sort of creepy after closing. Pete had been in it before, of course – hell, that was how this whole thing started – but every time it struck him again how weird it was. This kind of place was built for really high levels of activity, and now...

"It's like a ghost town," Patrick said, swiping his card and opening the door that led to management's wing.

"Actual ghosts are scarier," Greta said.

"Do I want to know how you know that?" Patrick said.

"I have my ways."

Pete just barely stopped himself from staring at her reverently. It probably wasn't dignified, or whatever. But man, she was amazing.

"Here we are," Greta said after they'd walked a few minutes. Pete didn't really need the announcement, since the doorway was fucking gilded, but whatever.

"So we'll stand guard," Pete said, "and you'll go in and talk to Bono and not get eviscerated or fired." He frowned, thinking. "Or promoted."

"I'm pretty sure they know they can't promote me without you."

Pete pumped his fist. Hah!

"Of course," Patrick added dryly, "No one in his right mind would ever promote you. So you've made sure my career is at a dead end. Congratulations."

"Shut up, you love me," Pete said.

"Stump!" Bono called. "I'm waiting!"

Patrick blanched and ducked inside. Pete crossed his arms, trying to look menacing. Greta just kind of sat there calmly – but she looked terrifying.

After about fifteen minutes Patrick came back out, looking pleased. "We're getting raises," he said.

"Hah! We are totally fucking awesome," Pete said. "Wait. Do you still make more than me?"

Patrick just looked smug, which was an explanation in itself. Pete made a face. "Life is unjust," he said.

"Only to you," Greta said sweetly. "Are we done here?"

"You're the best bodyguard," Pete said. "I'd hug you, but you're also a slug."

"You can owe me," Greta said, and oozed off.

"We should celebrate with dinner," Pete said. "Your treat, since you make more than me. Asshole."

"What about Brendon?" Patrick said.

They should bring him. Pete liked him, kind of, in the way where he wished he was a yappy dog or something other than a human. But Brendon would be at the apartment when they got back, and Pete...

Pete wanted Patrick to himself for awhile.

"We can bring him leftovers," he said, half expecting Patrick not to agree.

But Patrick just shrugged. "Okay," he said. "Where do you want to eat?"

Pete had made so many dumb decisions in his life that he couldn't even remember a tenth of them. Now he squinted at Patrick, trying to gauge his reaction. They almost never went out to eat alone; Patrick usually dragged someone else along.

Interesting.

"Let's eat at Celia's," he said. It would cost an arm and a leg, and they'd get romantic mood lighting.

He was half expecting Patrick to argue – but Patrick shrugged. "Lead the way," he said.

So Pete did. It was only about a five-minute walk to the retaurant; since it was jut the two of them, the waiter put them in an intimate, candle-lit corner. If Patrick thought it was weird, he didn't say so. "Their food is awesome," he said, looking over the menu.

"You should order all of it," Pete said, "and get nice and fat."

The waiter cleared his throat.

"Don't worry," Patrick said, putting his menu down, "that's far from the weirdest thing he's ever said to me. I'll have a bowl of spaghetti and some worm soup, please."

"Donuts," Pete said, "lots and lots of donuts. I never say weird things to you."

"The first time you saw me barefoot, you said you wanted to lick my toes."

"Would you two like anything to drink," the waiter said loudly.

"Water's fine," Pete said, handing him their menus. "That's not weird. I did want to lick your toes."

"My point exactly."

"For all you know, I maintain my lovely green color by licking cute monsters' toes."

"That's not even physically possible," Patrick said.

He wasn't blushing. Pete felt like a failure, so he kicked his feet out until he could caress Patrick's toes with his. "I'll show you impossible," he said in the sexiest voice he could.

But he was really short and had had to get under the table to reach Patrick's toes, so the sexy kind of failed.

"Come back up here," Patrick said.

"I don't know, I kind of like it down here." Pete leaned back against a table leg. "It's very peaceful."

Patrick didn't respond. A few minutes passed, and Pete started fidgeting. A few more passed, and he jiggled his legs against Patrick's. Still more, and he said, "Where's our food?"

"It's only been two minutes," Patrick said.

Crap. "You're lying."

"Nope."

Since Pete had to see this blasphemy for himself, he crawled out from under the table – but into Patrick's lap instead of into his own chair. Variety is the spice of life, he told himself.

But Patrick showed him his watch; he was right. Only two minutes had passed.

"This blows," Pete said.

"Could you get off my lap?" Patrick said.

Pete sighed, but he climbed off obediently. "You're no fun."

"What is with you?" Patrick said instead of answering directly.

Pete blinked at him. "What?"

"You're acting fucking insane," Patrick said. "Tell me what's up."

"Nothing," Pete said, trying not to seem as shifty as he suddenly felt.

"Bullshit it's nothing."

"It's nothing important, anyway," Pete said. "Or at least, nothing you need to know about."

In answer, Patrick crossed his arms and glared. "You're acting like a schoolboy with a crush. That's not nothing."

The chips were metaphorically down and Pete knew it. But Pete also knew something that Patrick either hadn't realized or didn't want to acknowledge: Pete knew exactly how to throw him off the truth.

"Okay," he said. "You caught me. I'm in love with you. I want to marry you and have your physically improbable babies."

Patrick blinked. "No, seriously. Tell me what's wrong."

Pete relaxed. "I've just been having bad dreams lately. And weird brain stuff. You know, the usual set of issues."

"Oh." Patrick reached across the table and patted his mohawk-flap. "Sorry, man. Wake me up next time it happens, you know I sleep too much anyway."

"Yeah, totally." Something twisted in Pete's stomach; it felt a little like breaking. "I'll be right back," he said, and bolted for the bathroom.

He didn't throw up or anything; he just sat on the toilet, staring at the stall and trying not to feel too sorry for himself. It was pretty pathetic, anyway, how he just hung around all the time without ever actually doing anything. Especially since he'd had the perfect opportunity just now, a golden opportunity to make Patrick see how he felt. And he'd blown it.

On the other hand, if Patrick knew how he felt and didn't feel the same way – which was likely, even probable – then Pete was doing the brave and noble thing by not telling him. That was it he told himself. He was being good about things. He was saving their friendship.

Because there was no way in this universe or any other that Patrick really cared, Pete knew. No fucking way.

When he could breathe without wanting to do something really humiliating, like bursting into tears, he went back out to their table.

"Dude, even the toilets are classy here," he said, hopping back up in his chair.

The evening finished uneventfully after that. Pete thanked his lucky stars.

||

That weekend was boring more than anything else. Brendon seemed to be mostly trained now; he played with the blocks Patric had bought and danced a lot, and Pete read and wrote and very carefully didn't say anything that could even remotely seem like a confession of his feelings to Patrick. It was pretty okay, he thought.

Sunday morning, Brendon was standing on the coffee table again – only this time, instead of babbling nonsensically, he was dancing.

Pete crunched his cereal, watching. Patrick should be getting up any minute now, he thought.

Brendon hummed, and the lights flickered.

Pete frowned. If they got a blackout today he was going to kill someone.

Brendon opened his mouth and sang a long, full note. He had a gorgeous voice, Pete realized -

And the lights in the house got brighter, and brighter, and then shattered when Brendon sang a note higher.

"Brendon!" Pete yelled sharply.

But Brendon didn't need to be told: he'd already leaped off the coffee table and was glaring at the light fixtures like they were going to attack him.

"Pete?" Patrick yelled from his bedroom. "What's going on?"

Pete couldn't take his eyes off the now-shattered light bulbs. Had the surge happened in anyone else apartment? God, they were going to get arrested, he just knew it. "Nothing," he called. "Brendon singing just destroyed all our lightbulbs, is all."

He wasn't surprised when Patrick came out five minutes later, his fur sticking up in all directions. "Brendon _what_?"

Patrick pointed to the lights overhead. "He sang, and that happened."

Patrick's eyes widened. "Power surge?"

"Power tsunami," Pete corrected.

"That's...wow. Should we tell Bono? This could be the answer to our problems."

"Right," Pete said. "We'll just tell him that our pet human's singing is apparently way more powerful than screams, and he'll change production right away."

"...okay, bad idea," Patrick said. "Now give me coffee so I can think of a good one."

Pete obeyed, but not before he hugged Patrick good morning. Brendon just watched them wordlessly, his expression the same level of lost and wistful that it had been for days now.

The rest of the day was quiet; Brendon didn't try to sing again. It was a pity, because he really did have a fantastic voice – and Patrick, being a musician, probably would have appreciated it even more than Pete had. But buying a second round of lightbulbs wasn't exactly something either of them wanted to do, and Brendon seemed to understand; he didn't need to be told not to try it again.

When Monday passed and Tuesday morning came, Patrick brought the elephant in the room up. "It's been five days,. I just...aren't you worried? Like, at all?"

Pete shrugged, trying to keep any sign of exactly how worried he was off his face. Being the responsible adult was Patrick's job. "We'll find his door eventually."

"He's getting antsy."

It would have been dumb to deny it, since Brendon was pacing six feet away from them. "Fine," Pete said, steadfastly ignoring the old familiar brick-feeling in the pit of hi stomach, "we'll take him in tomorrow and find his door when the factory closes."

"You sure that's a good idea?" Patrick said, pouring himself another mug of coffee.

"All of my ideas are horrible and you know it," Pete said. "But they're better than yours. That's just going to have to be good enough."

Patrick frowned. "I don't think I like that logic."

"Yeah, me neither," Pete said. "But we're so far into this shit that it's not even funny. We'll sneak him in again; it'll work out. He'll go through the door, and we won't have to worry about it anymore."

Patrick squinted at him; Pete stared back as guilelessly as he could. It wasn't like he'd just lied to Patrick, he told himself. He'd said he knew it was a bad idea.

Finally Patrick nodded. "It's a plan, then."

"Goody," Pete said, and tried not to feel like he was about to throw up.

||

Brendon practically peed his pants with excitement when they woke him up the next morning and indicated that he should come with them. He skipped next to them on their way to work and shook hands (or tentacles, and occasionally claws) with all the monsters they passed.

He was a hit, of course. Patrick practically gave himself an aneurysm worrying that someone would figure out that he was an adult human, not a baby monster. But Brendon wasn't stupid; he kept the secret easily.

And then Pete turned in his paperwork and the three of them hid in the bathroom. The lights went out and the doors were locked.

They were alone.

"Except," Pete said – to remind himself as much as anyone else - "for Brandon. Because he's a giant rat, and also a cheater."

"And yet, still behind us in scare totals," Patrick said smugly. "Okay, the coast is clear. Let's go."

They tip-toed down the hall and onto the main floor. They'd decided to just send him through the first door that came by; he _was_ an adult, and – Pete was kind of fond of him, was the thing, so he'd been kind of creepily watching him for awhile. And the thing was, he was really smart.

He'd do okay in the world. Pete felt like there was a fairly large hole in his stomach, but that was okay, because Brendon was going to be fine.

"Here we go," he muttered to himself, and hit the button that would bring them a door.

Only instead of the machine starting, sirens went off and the overhead lights flickered on.

"Shit!" Pete yelled. "Brandon did this and it was fine! Shit! Shit! Shit!"

"Run!" Patrick said, and picked Pete up before following his own advice. Pete twisted, trying to see if Brendon was following – fucking Patrick, Brendon was the one he should've picked up, Brendon was the one who was in danger – but of course he was, because he was _smart_.

"What are you – augh!" Pete yelled as Patrick dove towards the far wall.

He expected them to get knocked out on the metal wall and wake up in jail, or something, but instead the wall gave, two panels swinging back to let them into a narrow, dark tunnel, then moving forward again to hide them.

"How did you know about that?" Pete said. He was barely audible even to himself, the sirens were so loud.

"It's a tornado exit thing," Patrick said. "But we should keep moving, they'll know to check here."

A single bulb was illuminating the passage. Pete eyed the long, dark hallway with suspicion. "We could get eaten."

"We're going to get arrested," Patrick said impatiently. "Come on." He started crawling away.

Brendon, who'd apparently decided to treat it all like some kind of game, immediately crawled after Patrick, babbling cheerfully. Pete rolled his eyes, but followed a second later. He was short enough that he didn't even have to crawl, so all in all it was an okay deal.

Except after fifteen minutes of winding passageway, they hadn't found a single way out. It hadn't forked, so Pete wasn't worried about getting lost and stuck and dying of starvation and becoming a ghost doomed to haunt the factory forever (...much), but when the sirens stopped he did get a little freaked out, just because he had no fucking clue where they were.

"Are you sure this thing ends?" he said, squinting ahead in the murky darkness.

"Well, logically it has to." Patrick's voice echoed weirdly, and maybe it was the panic talking, but Pete kind of wanted to figure out a way to tuck his voice in his pocket.

In his metaphorical pocket, at least, since he didn't actually own clothes.

"We could be in another dimension," Pete said. "Or crawling deeper and deeper into the earth."

"Door!" Brendon said (they'd been teaching him the essentials), and opened a metal panel to his right.

"...or not," Pete said, staring at the room the panel revealed.

He thought at first it was Bono's office; there were like five pictures of the guy just in the part Pete could see. But instead of a desk and whatever else a factory owner would keep in his office, there was a huge, shiny, strange-looking machine.

Also, Pete thought – very carefully to stave off panic – also, Brandon was standing next to the machine looking diabolical, and Brandon definitely didn't belong in Bono's office.

"How nice of you to join us," Brandon said.

"Brendon," Patrick said quietly, "run."

Brendon didn't speak their language, but he didn't need to: the look on Brandon's face spoke volumes. Pete plastered himself to the wall of the passage to give Brendon room to take off. "We should run too," Pete said, moving to get away.

"I don't think that would be a good idea," a new voice said.

Next to him, Patrick gasped and began to shake. "Mr. Bono! What's going on?"

"I regret that I can't tell you," Mr. Bono said.

"Right, then," Pete said. "We'll just be going now. Um. Have fun with your ominous shiny machine and – ack!"

"Not so fast," Brandon said smoothly, throwing a rope around Pete and cinching it tight. "Don't try anything," Brendon added casually to Patrick, "Or I'll toss him through this door -" Pete hadn't even noticed any doors, but there was one, gray with metal studs on it - "and keep you here. You'll never see him again."

"Pete," Patrick said. He sounded strangled.

"Fucker," Pete said cheerfully, and kicked Brandon in the face.

Brandon dropped him; tied up, he rolled around the room, his momentum finally dying at Bono's feet.

Bono didn't even look mad, just vaguely displeased. "Patrick, don't draw this out any longer than it has to be. Come out of the passage."

"How do I know you won't hurt him?" Patrick said rebelliously.

"They'll probably hurt me if you don't," Pete said from his spot on the floor.

"Very good," Brandon said, and kicked him.

"I hope you get syphilis," Pete said. "I hope you die a virgin _with_ syphilis."

"That doesn't make sense, you fucking idiot," Patrick said, stepping out of the passage.

Pete was so scared he was pretty sure he was going to wet himself soon. Seeing Patrick shouldn't have been a relief, because it meant Patrick was in danger now, too – but it was, just because it was Patrick. "Hi."

"Hi," Patrick said, and turned to Bono. "What's going on, here?"

Bono sighed. "It's very complicated, I'm afraid. You see, we haven't been as...well. The human world isn't as great a mystery as popular belief often holds."

"I _knew_ it," Pete said. "We've totally never landed on Saturn before either, have we."

"That's irrelevant," Bono said. "The point is, we've been negotiating for quite some time, and the results...well, you'd better see for yourself."

Brandon untied Pete; before Pete had a chance to react, he was being ushered towards the grey door.

"What are we supposed to be looking at?" Patrick said.

"This," Bono said, and pushed the door open.

"Shit, that's snow," Pete shrieked – but Bono pushed Patrick and Brandon pushed Pete, and they were both through the door and face-down in the snow before they could react.

"I was just joking," Bono. "We're actually going to suck the life force out of your human. And all of the other humans. Enjoy your exile!"

Patrick leaped to his feet and ran towards the door, but it was too late: Bono slammed it shut. When Patrick opened it, all they saw was more snow.

"We're going to die," Pete said bleakly.

"Don't be ridiculous," Patrick said.

"I'm not," Pete said. "I really believe it. We're going to die, and it's going to suck. I didn't even get to say goodbye to Brendon. Or my fish."

"You don't own any fish."

"It's the principle of the thing."

Patrick sighed. Snow was already all over his fur; his bald spot must be freezing, Pete thought forlornly. He knew _he_ was cold. "Come on," Patrick said. "You're going to die of frostbite if we don't find shelter."

"I hate the human world already," Pete said, but he pushed himself to his feet. "Which way should we walk?"

Patrick turned in a slow circle, squinting. "Um."

Pete was about to suggest they just give up and eat each other so they'd die full, at least, when a lump of snow appeared.

"Patrick, there's a walking lump of snow," Pete said.

Patrick turned so quickly the snow that kept accumulating on his fur came off and half-buried Pete. "Oof," Pete said, standing up.

"Who are you!" Patrick yelled at the snow-covered figure.

"Murrrrr," the figure said.

"Show your face," Patrick said, "or I swear to God, there'll be consequences."

"_Murrrr_," the figure said.

Patrick roared.

"Oh!" The figure moved closer, and then suddenly it threw off its white fur hood and it wasn't a figure at all, but was instead a nice-looking lady monster. "Hello. I thought you were humans."

"Really," Patrick said suspiciously.

"Really really," she said, and smiled. "I'm the Abominable Snowman. You should come back to my cave."

"My heart is taken, fair lady," Pete said before Patrick had a chance to answer. "But, you know, thanks and stuff."

"How charming," the Abominable Snowman said, smiling.

"You're insane," Patrick said. "Look, sorry, but we can't go back to your cave. We have to figure out how to get back to the monster world. We have a human friend – pet – _thing_, we have a human, and he's stuck in the monster world and we have to help him."

"Okay," the Abominable Snowman said, "look, that sounds awesome, but there's some stuff about this place that you should know. Can we go back to my cave, please? Then we'll talk it out, and figure out how to save your...human."

"She could be evil," Pete said when Patrick looked like he was actually considering it. "Just wait, she'll try to cook us and eat us like in Hansel and Gretel."

"Oh, for God's sake," Patrick said. "Take us to your cave."

"Traitor," Pete said. "I hope she eats you first."

"I'm not eating either of you," she said. "Come on, the storm's getting worse."

They trudged after her, the wind howling in their ears. Luckily her cave was relatively close by; just coming in out of the wind was in itself amazing, but then they walked about twenty feet in and warmth from a huge, crackling fire in the biggest part of the cave hit them.

"Oh my god," Pete said, "I will totally climb in your oven any time. You're amazing. What's your name?"

"I wasn't joking, I really am the Abominable Snowman," she said. "But you can call me Ashlee. Sit down, make yourselves at home."

She had cushions strewn all over the floor. It wasn't exactly a choice setup; the part of Pete that had daydreamed about being an interior designer when he was a kid wanted to tell her to get wall hangings and, like, a couch. But the cushions were soft, and Pete felt gross and drippy now that the snow was melting, so he sank down on them gratefully.

Patrick plopped down next to him with considerably less emotions. "So. About getting Brendon back here."

Ashlee nodded. "It's complicated. That door only leads to the monster world sometimes. I staked it out for eight months after they banished me and it never opened."

"Unless you were asleep when it did."

Ashlee fixed him with a cold stare. "Doubtful."

And whoa, okay. Pete knew unfinished business when it glared him in the face. "Sorry," he said, and went back to toasting his toes by the fire.

"What should we do to get back, then?" Patrick asked.

"I'm not sure," Ashlee said. "You have a few different options. But look – it's past midnight here. Sleep, okay? We'll go over your options in the morning."

It sounded like a pretty manufactured reason to shut them up, but Ashlee got up and came back with huge, fluffy blankets, and Pete really didn't have the heart (or, to be honest, presence of mind) to say anything about her avoidance. He sighed and bundled himself into the blanket. "I hate this.," he whispered to Patrick.

"Me too," Patrick said. "My fur is soaked. It's disgusting."

"I meant more generally."

"Well, duh," Patrick said. "I...I liked Bono, you know. Kind of. He was okay, sometimes."

Privately Pete thought 'okay, sometimes' was a pretty shitty reason to like someone. But Patrick was a bigger softy than he was willing to admit. "I'm sorry."

"I just...I don't miss him. I didn't really know him. But I wish I did, I guess." Patrick sighed. "Whatever. Let's sleep."

"Way ahead of you, buddy," Pete said, closing his eyes.

He had terrible dreams, of course; despite the fire, cold still came in from the mouth of the cave, too strong for even snuggling against Patrick to fully insulate him. He woke up with a gasp after dreaming of being eaten by a snake that looked uncomfortably like Brandon.

Ashlee was making hot dogs.

"Good morning!" she said, disturbingly cheery. "Turkey or veggie?"

"Mrngah," Pete said, trying to rub the sleep out of his eyes.

"Careful, some of it's probably frozen. Turn towards the fire and you'll thaw out right away."

"Pleth," Pete said, but he obeyed, stumbling upright and taking a few steps closer to the fire before faceplanting on a cushion.

"Very good," Ashlee said, patting his head. "Here, have a turkey dog."

Apparently she was ethically opposed to ketchup. Oh well, Pete thought, and scarfed it down. "Thanks," he mumbled, licking his fingers.

"I can make another one, if you want," Ashlee said. "You'll need your strength if you're really planning on trying to get back home."

"It's possible, then?" Pete hadn't wanted to say it where Patrick couldn't hear, but of course he knew that the only way to get back to the monster world was through a door – and there was no way of predicting which doors would be activated when.

"Possible, sure. Likely?" Ashlee shook her head. "Not so much. But we'll figure out a way."

"You don't have to do anything."

Ashlee's smile was wistful and more than a little bitter. "You have no idea how long I've been here alone, do you."

Pete was never too eloquent – not when he was just talking, anyway. Now was no exception. He patted her back awkwardly before saying, "Don't worry, Patrick'll have ideas. He always does."

"You guys seem close," she said neutrally.

Pete didn't miss the implication. "I wish," he said. "He's..."

"Difficult?"

"Frustrating," Pete said. "I never know where I stand. Or well, I do, because I'm his best friend. I just wish things were different."

"Have you ever - "

"Don't suggest talking to him, please. There's no good there."

Ashlee shrugged. "If you say so. Wake him up, then, would you? We've got a lot to plan."

Once Patrick was awake, coherent, and fed, Ashlee built up the fire and sat in front of it, facing them. "You won't get back through the door you came in," she said. "We'll have to find a child's house. And not just any child."

"Why not?"

"The doors Bono picks have been carefully selected," Ashlee said. "The kids in Siberia – monsters can't scare them. Half of them have already almost died in blizzards by the age of five. But a lot of kids in America aren't scared by monsters now, either. Kids in Canada, though, are still pretty reliable, as long as they're still under thirteen or so. So age, location...it's all taken into account."

"Do you have a plan for finding a good door?"

Ashlee smiled. "The President of the United States' daughter is having a slumber party four days from now."

"...and?" Pete said, wondering what a 'United States' was.

"Her door will be hit that night,"Ashlee said. "It's a well-known event full of little girls who have been carefully nannied since infancy. Bono wouldn't miss that kind of gold mine."

"So where is it?" Pete said. "We should probably start early that day, since the weather will be so bad."

"That's the problem. It's halfway around the world, and we can't exactly fly United." At their blank looks, Ashlee sighed and clarified: "We can't use human transportation."

"I hope you have a plan for that, too," Patrick said.

"She might not," a new voice said from the doorway, "but I do."

They all three turned in unison: Greta was standing in the doorway, carrying what looked like a giant deflated blimp.

"Oh my God," Ashlee said while Pete and Patrick stared uselessly, "I don't know who you are, but you're a fucking genius."

Greta just smiled.

||

The deflated blimp was not, it turned out, a deflated blimp.

It was a hot air balloon.

"Kind of 1800s," Greta said, "but it'll get us where we need to be, as long as we fly by night."

"What about air surveillance?"

"My ex-husband is the head of the NSA," Greta said. "It's taken care of."

"Wait," Pete said, "your ex – what's the NSA?"

"National Security Agency. Oh, sorry, I forgot." Greta's tentacles moved to her back. A zipping noise sounded, and a human woman stepped out of the now-deflated slug suit. "I'm black ops."

Pete's head felt light. "Patrick?"

Patrick was behind him in an instant. "Don't faint, man. I am dead serious when I say I will never forgive you."

"Our Greta," Pete said. "She's...she's..."

"I know," Patrick said. He patted Pete's mohawk flap.

Pete pushed himself upright and walked over to Greta, sitting back so he could see high enough to look her in the eye. "I want you to know I feel incredibly betrayed right now," Pete said.

Greta's lips quirked upwards in an almost-smile. "I'm very sorry."

"You can never have my children," Pete said. "Or – well, you could, but they'd be funny looking, and also I'd probably get arrested. So never. _Never._"

"Point taken," Greta said.

"Good." Pete turned to Ashlee. "You can have my babies instead."

"I'd be honored," Ashlee deadpanned.

"Anyway," Patrick said loudly. "Let's blow the balloon up and get going."

"But -"

"It's going to take us forever to get there." Patrick shoved past Ashlee and grabbed the balloon. "So! Let's get going. Now."

Pete raised his eyebrows. "What's your damage, man?"

"You mean except for how we're stuck in the human world and you're flirting with monsters we _don't even know_ instead of helping us get back home? Wow, you're right, why would I be mad about that?" Patrick yanked the hot air balloon – and one of the ropes on it snapped.

"That can be fixed," Greta said quickly, moving towards it.

But Pete ignored her. "Oh, good job, genius!" he yelled, waving his arms at Patrick. "You're mad about _nothing_ and you break our balloon because of it! I wish more people could be just like you!"

"Get fucked," Patrick practically snarled. "At least I'm not a _flirt_."

So basically Patrick could break Pete's heart by being all...existing and not caring about Pete, but Pete had to suck up to Patrick. Awesome. "I hate you and I hope you die painfully," Pete said, and stomped off to sulk by the fire.

"Well, this is awkward," Ashlee said. "Maybe we should all just -"

"Screw all of you," Patrick said. "I'll find my own way back."

"No, you won't," Greta said. There was a brief sound of scuffling; Pete turned around in time to see Greta trip Patrick and sit on him triumphantly. "There. Ashlee, can you get the balloon together?"

"Of course," Ashlee said. "Just give me ten minutes."

They worked in tandem disturbingly easily while Pete and Patrick tried to pretend they weren't glaring at each other. Pete didn't have a clock and couldn't tell how much time had actually passed, but it felt like hardly any at all when they stepped away from the now-ready balloon.

"All aboard," Ashlee said. "Pete, that includes you, so you should stop sulking now."

"I wasn't sulking," Pete said rebelliously, but he went into the balloon's basket.

It wouldn't have been that small if half of them weren't giant, hairy, ugly monsters, but they were; Pete ended up squished between Greta and Ashlee and glaring at Patrick, who was sitting across from him. "Hey there, ladies," Pete said, never taking his eyes off of Patrick. "You two sure are looking nice today."

Patrick's lips lifted in a snarl. He must really be invested in having Pete stick around, all sad and sexless. It was like Pete had never had to endure hours of Patrick talking about pretty lady monsters and how he wanted to move in with one and make tiny monster babies.

But to his surprise, Ashlee was done humoring him. "Shut up, Pete," she said, untying the rope and stowing it in the basket. The balloon began to rise. "We have to live on this balloon for almost two days. Try to make the tension less horrible, not worse."

"You don't know me," Pete said, but she was talking common sense and he knew it. He couldn't make himself apologize, not right now, so he closed his eyes, feigning sleep. Neither Ashlee nor Greta knew he was an insomniac, and Patrick wasn't speaking to him, so no one would call him on his faking.

He lasted a good three hours. When he opened his eyes it was still dark and Greta was standing, pulling on ropes that directed the balloon. "We're making good time," she said quietly when Pete moved to stand next to her.

Pete looked down. They were over an ocean now; the moon and stars reflected off the water, giving the illusion of the universe below and above them.

"Are you scared?" Pete said.

Greta shook her head. "I've done this before. Aren't you scared you've lost a friend?"

"Patrick? He's just..."

"You might not want to finish that sentence," Greta said dryly.

"...in a bad mood," Pete finished lamely. "It's just a me-and-him thing. We'll figure it out."

"You shouldn't taunt him like that, you know," Greta said.

Pete blinked at her. "What?"

"I haven't exactly missed how you are," Greta said. "But you still shouldn't taunt him. He seems like the kind of guy to really appreciate monogamy. Anyone would be lucky to settle down with him – but I know you can't force your affections, which is why I'm saying you just shouldn't wave it in his face."

"I have no idea what you're talking about right now," Pete said honestly.

"_What?_"

"Patrick's the one who's all, oh, I want baby monsters and a picket fence, and a wife to cook my meals." Pete shrugged. "But I'm not allowed to flirt when I'm the one who's going to die old and withered and alone while he's happily married. Whatever."

It was probably good that Greta was human; Pete couldn't marry someone who laughed at his problems like this anyway. "Oh God," Greta said. "Okay, look. Just make up with him when he wakes up, okay? Your drama is so...hah. Oh man."

"You're raving," Pete told her. She really was, too. How sad.

"Just go back to sleep," Greta said, and turned her still-laughing face to the sky.

Pete turned around. Ashlee had slumped over, sprawling over most of the floor space in the basket. Patrick was lying down, too, his head pillowed on his arms, snoring lightly. Pete turned what Greta had said over in his mind.

Clearly, she thought Patrick was jealous of Pete's flirting. Pete knew that wasn't the case at all, but telling her would probably be useless; Gabe had a similar romantic notion that was equally misguided. Poor, poor blind people, Pete thought.

But he did hate fighting with Patrick. After a long few minutes of internal struggle, he lay down next to Patrick, tucking himself under one of Patrick's arms.

This was good, he thought, closing his eyes. No matter who was right (though he totally was) and who was wrong (how could you be that blind and work for black ops?), sleeping like this always felt right.

And that, Pete thought – that was what mattered, really.

He woke up when Patrick poked him. "What are you doing," Patrick whispered harshly.

"Sleeping," Pete said. "Or I was."

"I meant cuddling with me."

Pete thought about lying, but – no. "I was tired of fighting," he said. "And I know I was being an asshole. So I'm sorry."

When Patrick spoke, he was so quiet Pete had to strain to be able to hear him properly. "I'm tired of you making me sad," Patrick said.

Pete winced. "I wish I could fix it."

"Yeah." Patrick sighed. "Just...okay. That's fine. I'm sorry, too."

"Good." Pete snuggled closer. "So we're cool now?"

Patrick rolled enough so that he could get both arms around Pete. "Yep, we're cool."

On day two, Pete almost fell out of the hot air balloon when a bird dove toward him. Patrick yelled at him – totally unjustly, Pete thought, but whatever. Patrick was totally overprotective. Luckily, they got to their destination before Patrick had a chance to yell even more.

The White House was huge and white: no big surprises there. And luckily, the President's daughter had plenty of furniture to hide behind.

They were only going to have a few seconds to get through the closet door, and then they'd have to break out of the factory without getting arrested and/or killed. Greta was planning on staying back here in the human world to make her report, but she'd reassured them that she would come back sometime soon; Ashlee had said she preferred to stay in the human world. "They have Sno-Cones," she said.

 

Pete thought she was kind of crazy, but hey, it took all kinds.

That left him and Patrick to attempt a daring escape.

"We're going to die," Patrick whispered.

"Don't be ridiculous," Pete said. "We'll just get arrested and detained and experimented on by Greta's bosses, is all."

"Oh God," Patrick moaned.

Pete patted him comfortingly. "We who are about to die salute you," he said to Ashlee and Greta.

Greta saluted back mockingly; Patrick flipped her off.

Everyone at the slumber party had fallen asleep almost an hour ago, so Pete and Patrick were sitting directly in front of the closed door. Greta had tied some string around the doorknob so she could give them an extra few seconds to dash through. "And remember," she'd told them, "your goal is to get out of the factory. Don't stop to find Brendon. He's smart; either he's back in this world, or he's hiding in yours, or Bono has him. Whichever it is, he won't be anywhere you can get to and you shouldn't try to make sure he isn't."

It was sound advice. Pete hoped to God he'd keep the presence of mind required to actually follow it.

Finally, _finally_, the closet door creaked open – and panic shot through Pete. He didn't see anyone: it was Brandon.

"Grab it now!" he yelled at Greta, and dashed through the door without looking back.

"Pete!" Patrick yelled. Pete dropped and rolled as soon as he hit the factory floor; a second later he was upside-down in the air. Patrick had grabbed his ankle, just like they'd planned.

"Run, run, run!" Pete yelled as the alarm went off.

He'd never seen Patrick run like this before. Logically he knew that the guy was practically a super-monster, if out of shape, but he'd never really seen him in action before.

It was amazing. Pete was really glad he wasn't exactly in the position to embarrass himself by trying to kiss him.

They made it out of the building before the cops arrived. Patrick went to an alley immediately, winding through them with the speed of desperation. At first Pete heard frantic yells that meant that they were being followed – but as Patrick got further and further away from the center of the city, the sounds faded. Finally they couldn't hear sirens at all, and Patrick climbed up a fire escape and set Pete down next to him carefully.

"Okay?" Patrick asked, gasping.

"I'm not the one who was running," Pete said. He grabbed Patrick's hand before he had a chance to think about it too hard and squeezed it. "Thanks, man. Seriously."

"We're friggin...we're outlaws now," Patrick said. "What are we going to do?"

"I'm pretty sure it's not actually legal, what Bono did to us," Pete said. "And he's probably doing even more shady things. What was that machine for?"

"Something illegal and highly profitable," Patrick said. "Who knows? But Bono's got Brendon, probably."

Pete shivered. "He won't – will he?"

"Kill him, you mean?" Patrick shrugged bleakly. "It's not like anyone would be able to stop him if he did."

Pete leaned back and closed his eyes. It hadn't been that long – five, six years – since he'd just met Patrick. And he was the one who'd talked him out of a nice, quiet job as a schoolteacher. "I'm sorry," Pete said.

"Wait, what?"

"You could be teaching a class right now, not working in a shitty amoral factory with your asshole friend," Pete said. "And I -" Would probably be dead, okay, he wasn't going to finish that thought. "I'm just sorry, okay?"

"Whoa, dude, hold on. Look at me." Patrick twisted and leaned down. "I would suck as a teacher, okay? You know it, I know it. And you're...you're the best friend I've ever had, man. We're going to fix this, and once Bono's out we'll go back to work and it'll be awesome. I love doing this. I love doing this with _you_. We'll figure it out."

Pete launched himself at Patrick's middle to keep from crying like a moron. "I hate you," he said, choked up.

Patrick laughed, patting Pete's back. "Yeah, I hate you too," he said.

They hung out on the fire escape until it got dark, playing "I Spy" and telling each other stories (Pete's were always way more complex than Patrick's, but he liked the sound of his own voice, so it worked out okay). Pete half expected someone to see them and sound the alarm, or whatever, but of course the police probably didn't know about Bono's extracurricular activities; he'd search for them, Pete was sure, but he'd have to do it covertly.

Small blessings, and all that.

"So what's the plan?" Pete said as day turned to twilight.

"Go back to our apartment, which I'm sure Bono's watching," Patrick said. "Make sure Brendon's not there. Then sneak into the factory and find him, punch Bono, return him to his world, punch Bono again."

"And then call the cops?" Pete said hopefully.

"If we find something worth calling them for," Patrick said grimly.

"Your plan has holes like Swiss cheese," Pete said, leaning over and hugging Patrick as tight as he could.

"Asshole," Patrick said affectionately.

They sat in silence until the sky was completely dark. Finally Pete stood up. "Let's get moving."

"Wait." Patrick grabbed his wrist; he was tall enough that standing, Pete was eye level with him.

Something in Pete's stomach turned over. "Yeah?" he said as casually as he could.

"About Greta and Ashlee." Patrick took a deep breath. "I was jealous."

"I really don't want to talk about this, man," Pete said, trying to tug his wrist away.

"I was jealous," Patrick said determinedly, "because you're my best friend, and I love you, and the thought of you dating someone else makes me want to punch them in the balls. Or, okay, not the balls, I guess, since you don't like guys. But -"

"Yes I do," Pete said, because his mind was racing and he was sweating in places he didn't even know he had and it was _incredibly important_ that they understand each other perfectly right now.

Patrick stared. "What?"

"I like guys," Pete said. "Um. Too."

Patrick blinked at him.

"More specifically," Pete said, feeling like he was dragging his own guts out to throw on the floor, "I like _you_."

For a second he thought he'd misjudged the situation horribly, because Patrick's expression turned to one of terror. "Oh God," he said.

"What?" Pete said immediately. "What? What? Tell me!"

"I – you – we have to _go_ and all I want to do is -" Patrick gesticulated helplessly.

"Oh," Pete said, relief enveloping him. "If that's all..." He tackled Patrick and kissed him, wiggling happily.

"Mrph," Patrick said. "This isn't all I meant, you know."

Stars and butterflies were dancing in Pete from head to toe. He smiled dreamily. "Okay, sure. Whatever you say."

"I meant -"

"Things with penises, I know." Pete wasn't even sure how they were going to do that, since he came up to Patrick's like...knees. They'd work something out. "We'll work something out," he said, and kissed Patrick again.

When he pulled back, Patrick was flushed and happier-looking that Pete had ever seen him. "Finally," he said, beaming.

"Wait." Pete frowned. "You mean -"

"I mean I've been waiting for a long time," Patrick said. "I figured you'd say something. You're never shy about people you want to fuck."

"I don't just want to bone you," Pete said. "You moron. I want..." A terrifying number of things, actually. Okay: he wasn't going to go there. "I just want you," he finished lamely.

Patrick smiled. "You have me."

Pete took a few minutes to soak up the awesome floaty feeling going on in his stomach before he said, "Okay, for real, we should get moving."

"Right." Patrick stood. "Where are we? Are we just walking?"

"You're the one who was carrying me," Pete said. "Upside down, might I add. So how would I know?"

"You're bratty after you've been kissed," Patrick said. He had on the biggest, stupidest grin Pete had ever seen.

"Whatever," Pete said, and took Patrick's hand. "Oh, I know where we are. Come on."

It only took them thirty minutes to get to their apartment - which, considering that they were pretty much taking alleys and slinking down residential roads with no one on them, was pretty good time. Pete couldn't explain why he was so worried about Bono; it wasn't like the guy had a private police force. They were probably safe until they got to the factory, where they could actually get arrested for breaking and entering.

But that shiny machine kept looming in his mind's eye. At the very least, Pete was pretty sure Brandon would do whatever Bono told him to - and he hadn't realized Bono even had the resources to build such a monstrous machine.

It was probably really best to just be careful.

Their apartment was empty; Pete wasn't surprised. He brushed his teeth and got both himself and Patrick apples before he went back out. "We'll need our strength," he said, tossing Patrick the apple.

"You're such a mother hen," Patrick said, grinning. He ate the apple in one bite, core and all. "Okay, so we can sneak in through the back. I'm sure he's changed the combination, but I can reach in and unlock the gate myself, I think."

Pete had his doubts. "What's Plan B?"

"I'll throw you over and you'll open the door," Patrick said cheerfully.

"That is the worst plan," Pete said flatly.

"It'll work, though." Patrick took his hand again; they were both sticky with apple juice. Pete wondered what licking Patrick would be like. Furry, probably - but also, he thought, pretty fucking awesome.

Not that he was going to be licking Patrick on a public street. Well, probably not.

The factory loomed over them long before they got there. Patrick had taken over navigating now, and he led them in a spiral towards it. "Bono _will_ have guards posted," he said grimly.

"I should have made you take boxing lessons," Pete said.

"I should have made you take them," Patrick said.

"I can take anyone out with my wit. You need a little help."

"All of a sudden, you not confessing your enduring love makes sense," Patrick said. "Since you're completely delusional, and all."

"Delusional is as delusional does," Pete said. He was feeling more cheerfully nonsensical than he could remember feeling in a long, long time.

"That makes no sense," Patrick said, echoing his thoughts. "Okay, hang on. We're a block away from the back entrance. I don't think I should try the gate."

"But that's the plan," Pete said, already being attacked by the sinking feeling that meant he was totally doomed to get tossed over a fence. "You're going to try it so I don't end up breaking all my infinitely precious bones by being thrown over a fence."

"Right, I know. Except if it doesn't work, and there _are_ too many guards for me to fight off, then we've lost before we've even begun," Patrick said. "And that's basically the definition of a bad plan."

"I beg to differ," Pete said. "The definition of a bad plan is _throwing me over the fence._"

It was totally unfair that Patrick could still stare at him like he was gonna squash Pete like a bug now that they'd made out. Totally unfair - but also a hundred percent true.

"Fine," Pete said finally. "You'll throw me, and I'll die, and - auuuuuuuuugh!"

Patrick ran, Pete dangling from his hands again, and hurled Pete over the fence.

Later, Pete would be thankful for the fact that it didn't really give him time to think. One second he was in the air, and the next pain was shooting through him as he rolled on the ground. Then he was on his feet, and two enormous monsters were bearing down on Patrick -

And Pete ran forward and opened the fence, and Patrick ran through, slamming it shut in the monster's faces.

"Hot damn, I am awesome," Pete said.

"Of course it's you," Patrick said, rolling his eyes. "Come on, we've probably got _negative_ minutes to actually make it inside." He broke for the door of the factory, running so quickly Pete had to half-roll to keep up.

They didn't even make it halfway across the yard before the alarm sounded. Now-familiar panic churned in Pete's stomach; he ran and ran and ran, feeling like he was going to puke but totally incapable of even slowing down. They had to get to Brendon, he thought, dodging a tall, skinny monster who appeared seemingly out of nowhere and launched herself at him. Brendon was all that mattered. Brendon, and then making out once they'd turned Bono in to the police.

"It won't open!" Patrick said, yanking at the doorknob.

"Window," Pete said - but before Patrick had a chance to react, he grabbed a rock and threw it at the window next to the door. The glass shattered, and Pete fistpumped in victory as Patrick reached around and unlocked the door from the inside.

"Nice reacharound," Pete said, pushing the door open.

"Very funny," Patrick said sarcastically. "Okay, let's see. Bono's office..." He trailed off, turning in circles. "This way," he said, and took off running again.

The halls they made their way through were mostly deserted. Pete didn't have much room to think in between gasps of air, but if he had, he would've been worried; there had been guards outside, but not so many that Bono should've been certain they wouldn't make it through. So where was everybody else?

But he was falling behind. "Less thinking, more running!" Patrick yelled back at him, rounding a corner. They were close to Bono's office now; Pete turned the corner seconds after Patrick and saw the door, edged in gold.

All he did was get a glimpse of it, though, because suddenly he was being tackled and slammed into the wall. "Get off me, fucker!" he yelled, but -

"I don't think so, Wentz," Brandon's smooth voice said. Pete felt the press of something sharp against his neck.

"Oh God," Patrick said. He sounded panicked - Pete wanted to tell him it wasn't that bad, the knife wasn't _actually_ floating, but he definitely couldn't turn his head and he was pretty sure talking would have been a stupid idea, too.

"Now that I've got your attention, how about you back off?" Brandon said. "I doubt your boyfriend here wants to become detached from his head. Pity, too; it's not much to look at."

Pete wanted to kick him so incredibly hard he could almost taste it.

"Let him go," Patrick said, his voice shaking.

"Let me think about this," Brandon said. "Hmm, let's see, you somehow made it back from being exiled, Bono's about to finally test more than a year of hard work, both of our careers ride on that work, and you're determined to disrupt it - yeah, how about no?"

"I'll kill you." Patrick sounded eerily sincere. "You think I'm joking, just keep holding onto that knife."

"You kill me, and I kill your boy," Brandon said. He didn't even sound remotely afraid. "And since it's my boss's men who are stationed throughout this entire factory, who do you think will actually get convicted of a crime?"

Pete, unable to keep quiet after such an egregious abuse of logic, raised his hand.

The pressure on his neck abated just a little. "That doesn't make any sense," he said immediately. "Because if you kill me and he kills you, he'll go to jail but you'll also be dead. And you seem a little too self-serving to risk that."

"You're very right," Brandon said. He let the camouflage down so Pete could see his smile; it was one of the more horrible things Pete had ever seen in his life, actually. "But Patrick, bless his big furry heart, is too self-serving to let _you_ die."

Obviously Brandon had never seen Patrick without coffee - but Pete had no desire to enlighten him. Instead he knocked the knife away and rolled to the side.

He wasn't out of range; the knife swept across his back, opening a long line of pain. He gritted his teeth and tried not to do anything super embarrassing, like scream all high-pitched or start crying.

"Motherfucker," Patrick snarled, and leaped out of Pete's line of sight.

Pete turned around in time to see Brandon disappear again. The knife hovered ominously in midair - and then fell to the floor when Patrick reared back for a punch.

"Patrick, are you -"

"Turn the machine off," Patrick said. He'd put his back to the hallway wall and was looking around himself grimly, his hands in fists. "I'll hold him off, just - turn the fucking machine off."

It was a bad plan; Pete would even go so far as to say it was the _worst_ plan. Still, he wasn't about to disobey. He opened the door - funny how it was unlocked - and ran inside.

The far wall of Bono's office had been pushed aside, the machine on full display. Only this time Pete saw all of it: a huge hulking metal part, a long plastic tube, and the faux-leather chair in which Brendon now sat, a muzzle-type thing over his mouth.

"But sir," the tiny monster seated at what looked like a control panel said, "that'll kill him."

"Turn it on," Bono said harshly.

Giving them a warning was dumb and Pete knew it - but he shouted anyway. "Brendon!"

Bono whirled around. His lips curled in a sneer. "Turn it _on_," he said again, rolling up his sleeves. "I'll deal with the short one."

But Pete had more than had enough. He launched himself at Bono - and Bono fulfilled his plan exactly by jumping to avoid him. "Hah, motherfucker," Pete said, and jumped up on the control panel, smashing his hand down on the first big red button he saw.

The machine started clanking ominously. The controls monster laughed. "Idiot! That turns it on!"

Fuck. Pete punched him almost absent-mindedly, searching for the "off" switch. It didn't seem to have one - and Bono's growling alerted him to the fact that he was like a foot away from the control bench, so Pete tucked his grasping claws and looked at the far wall, praying they'd built this kind of thing with some kind of logic underpinning it.

And they had, he saw with relief, because that was definitely a power cord about twenty feet away.

But even as he made the realization, he felt two claws close around him. "Time's up, Wentz," Bono sneered.

Pete watched, helplessly, as the machine lit up.

At first nothing happened - but then suddenly Brendon's arms clamped on the seat and he started screaming, loud and long.

Pete struggled, of course, kicking and biting and trying not to see the tears leaking from Brendon's eyes - eyes that in and of themselves seemed, to Pete, incredibly accusing. "I'm sorry," he yelled, kicking uselessly. "Brendon, I don't know what it's doing, but try to fight it! I'm sorry, fuck, I'm sorry."

But the screaming kept going. Brendon was turning white now, he was going to _die_ soon, and Bono's plan was becoming increasingly clear: he was just going to go through child after child, killing them off for the tanks of screams he'd get.

(Part of Pete's mind noted, with no small amount of hysteria, that that didn't even make _sense_: what was Bono going to do once he'd killed all the human children in the world? But most of him was too busy crying and struggling to try to make sense of that detail.)

Finally Brendon's screams started winding down. He'd stopped kicking now, Pete could see - he'd stopped struggling at all, actually. Pete redoubled his own efforts, even though he knew it wasn't going to do any good. God, he'd as much as killed Brendon just now. No one was ever going to forgive him. He couldn't even forgive himself. "Brendon," he whispered as Brendon's eyes closed.

And then, impossibly, Patrick said from behind them, "You fucking _bastard_," ran twenty feet, and unplugged the machine.

Brendon's screaming stopped. His eyes twitched.

"Ah, damn," Bono said. "I'd hoped to finally get rid of him. He's been troublesome, you know."

"You should start running," Patrick said, advancing on them.

"I'll kill your little friend here."

"No you won't," Pete said.

"No, you won't," Patrick echoed him. "Because even if you do, I'll still kill you. Brandon was wrong, Bono. You were both wrong. I'm not that selfish – because I'm not like _you_."

He was totally bluffing, Pete told himself. Probably. Oh God.

Bono's hands tightened on him. "Really?" he said mildly. "We should test that."

Patrick took another step forward. "So does it bother you that you had to bring your _second_ best scarer in on your dirty little plan because you knew your best just wouldn't see eye to eye with you about it? Brandon can be so hard to work with, I'm sure. That inferiority complex can really get annoying."

"Just wait until he arrives," Bono said. His hands were tight enough around Pete's neck that Pete was starting to feel faint from lack of breath. "'Annoying' won't be the word you use at all."

Patrick laughed. He looked totally arrogant and carefree – or at least, the parts of him that weren't fuzzy did. Pete thought dimly that he'd never wanted to have sex with him more than right now. "Brandon's lying in the hallway outside, tied up and unconscious," he said.

Pete felt Bono's flinch – and then he heard Greta's voice from behind them say, "I hope I'm not interrupting anything."

Patrick launched forward, punching Bono in the nose. Bono started to fall backwards, his hands tightening reflexively.

Pete's vision faded to black.

||

The first thing he heard as he started to swim back to consciousness was Brandon's voice. He definitely wasn't in heaven, then. The first thing he saw when he opened his eyes was Patrick's concerned face, so he also wasn't in a Bono-constructed jail.

"Brendon?" he whispered, then licked his lips. Holy shit; begging for water was a cliché for a reason, apparently. His throat felt like the Sahara.

"He's not here," Patrick said. "He..."

"What?" Pete said. "Tell me. What?" Oh god, if Brendon was dead he was going to -

"He had to go through a door," Patrick said. "Hiding, and all. But he left us this." He handed Pete a much-creased sheet of paper.

It was a picture of a bright red door. Pete smiled. "Is it -"

"We've got it, yep," Patrick said.

"And Bono?"

"Arrested," Patrick said. "I'll beat Greta up if she ever makes the moves on you, but she's efficient."

"You couldn't beat Greta up if you tried," Pete said, but he smiled up at Patrick sappily.

Patrick smiled back. "Should I call a doctor? They said they wouldn't need to keep you, once you woke up."

"Why am I even here? I couldn't have passed out for that long."

The way Patrick's smile stiffened answered the question for Pete even before Patrick said, "It was...there were complications. You were already passed out, and you hit your head really hard going down. They weren't sure when you were going to wake up."

Pete frowned. "I haven't been in a coma for ten years or anything, have I?"

"Just a day. But um." Patrick looked down. "Don't do it again."

Clearly, Pete was going to have to bribe a nurse for the riveting bedside footage. "Okay," Pete said, feeling unusually magnanimous, "I won't. Now go get a doctor so we can go home and snuggle."

Patrick obeyed – and awesomely, they managed to do a hell of a lot more than snuggle.

||

The investigation finally ended after three months of paid vacation for both Pete and Patrick. Going back to work would have been an epic bummer, except the restructuring coincided with Pete's very persuasive new energy techniques; both laugh tanks and singing tanks had been made by the hundreds, and his ideas and Patrick's reputation had gotten them both promoted.

They turned down the epic amounts of responsibility, but the board insisted they keep the ridiculously high salaries; there was no way Pete was going to say no to that. And he wasn't going to lie to himself; it did make going to work a little easier.

They switched off now. Sometimes Patrick strolled into a kid's room and taught them how to sing one of Gabe's compositions, and sometimes Pete rolled in and did stand-up (or spoken word, which he told Patrick made the kids laugh just because they weren't used to such amazing poetry; the truth was none of it sounded good until Patrick put it to music, which he'd been doing more and more lately). Everyone's productivity was off the charts, to the extent that the city was actually dealing with energy _surpluses_.

Pete and Patrick still went back to visit Brendon; Greta usually took them with her every time she had to go back to make her reports. She also took Gabe, which was a relationship Patrick claimed he didn't want to think about.

Pete, of course, was irrepressibly curious. "Do you take your slug suit off when you guys have sex?" he asked one time as they waited at a Philadelphia bus stop.

Patrick immediately clamped his hands over his ears. "I will push you under a bus," he said.

Greta just smiled.

Occasionally things went wrong. Getting through the night was still pretty hit-or-miss for him, and Patrick flipped out that one time Brendon introduced Pete to his friend Ryan and Pete spent the rest of the day almost-flirting with him. But almost impossibly, they got through it; things were working out for them, and for once Pete didn't have any reason to think they wouldn't keep working out.

All in all, it was a pretty amazing feeling. Happiness, it turned out, was a hell of a thing.

**Epilogue: Two Years Later**

"Hi, kids," Pete said, bounding through the closet door. "I'm Pete! And this is my PENIS!" He waved the stuffed monkey around frantically.

Except – oops. Pete lowered the monkey. The two dudes staring at him were definitely in their twenties.

"That's a monkey, man," one of them said.. "Also, you're kind of...green."

"Is it radiation?" the other one said, lisping a little. "Because you should've asked the radiation gods for spider powers."

"There aren't any _radiation gods_ Joe. God, you're too stupid to be related to me," the first one said, rolling his eyes. "Also, he came through the closet, so clearly his power is teleportation."

"That is so dumb. Everyone knows you can't teleport from radiation."

"Dr. Manhattan, hello."

"He's not blue. Also, his dick is tiny."

Patrick was gonna smack him if he didn't get one of them to laugh, or at the very least sing Clay Aiken. "Hey," he said loudly, cutting into the (stoned on at least one side, he thought) argument. "Could one of you sing, please?"

"No way," the first one said, sniffing disdainfully.

"Yeah, sorry, man," the second one said. "I play guitar."

And just like that, Pete realized how he was going to stop Patrick from inflicting terrifying, painful death on him. He smiled broadly. "In that case, gentlemen," he said, "I have a business proposition for you."

||

Two years later, Fall Out Boy did the first trans-universal tour – not that anyone in either universe knew it, of course. Still, Pete got him and Patrick and Joe and Andy matching plaques to commemorate the occasion.

"Did they really need your face on them?" Joe said, wrinkling his nose.

"Duh," Pete said. "I _discovered_ us."

The other three glared at him.

"Okay, okay," Pete said. "But I'm definitely the prettiest, so there."

They kept glaring. Pete sighed and looked as pathetic as he could. "Love me," he said, holding out his arms.

They all hugged him then, of course. His band was a sucker for group hugs; it was one of many things that made them awesome.

"And anyway," Pete said, "the picture of me is just a laminate. Pull it off."

They obeyed. Under that was the real plaque: a picture of the four of them, and the date the band had begun.

"Awesome," Joe said. "I'm gonna hang it in my bathroom."

"They're very nice," Patrick said, bending down to kiss Pete. Andy and Joe made gagging noises in the background.

Pete just beamed like a moron. His band; his Patrick. Things had ended up pretty okay.


End file.
